


The Truth Is In the Rain

by aki_hoshi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Muggle!Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 74,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aki_hoshi/pseuds/aki_hoshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It rained, and Harry Potter was his friend.</i> There isn't any hard and fast rule for friendship, or even love. It comes, sometimes as unwanted as the rain, and its effect lingers long after it's gone. Draco struggles to understand why this is all happening to him, and why Potter can't just go bother someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emi_chirescue](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=emi_chirescue).



> Betas: icyaurora8, lettered, jad, scabbyfish & pandoras_chaos
> 
> Word Count (whole story): 74,575
> 
> Warnings: AU-ish, Flangst, because I can't write one without the other; some light Weasley-bashing, mostly pre-epilogue compliant, with some minor changes due to artistic liberty; portals to alternative universes (no, I'm not kidding), appearances by "Muggle science", Slytherin!Harry, abandonment issues, and the occasional sunny day.
> 
> Notes: This was written for emi_chirescue, for the hd_seasons Secret Santa exchange. And it's terribly, terribly, HORRIBLY late. Like, ALMOST TWO YEARS LATE BECAUSE I SUCK AND LIFE HATES MY MUSE. I'm so sorry! Have pity on a writer trying to get her groove back. :3
> 
> Thank Yous: A HUGE, HUGE thank you has to go out to my mega-team of friends/betas, especially The Writing Club (aka: Slash Club): jad, for being a cheerleader, roommate, sounding board, creative genius, and partner-in-crime; lettered, for giving me the idea, helping me through the sciencey bits (I love your brain!), fixing all my weirdness, and just generally being such an awesome cheerleader; and Tracy, for distracting me with Castiel porn (crazy woman!). Also, to pandoras_chaos, for listening to me wibble and going over this story I don't know how many times, as well as rewarding my efforts with Sherlock porn (I love you!); icyaurora8, for helping me out in the early stages, and just generally being the best; and last, but very certainly NOT the least, for scabbyfish, who is the best and loveliest Brit-picking bar wench in all of Yorkshire. LONG LIVE THE FLAGON!

***

The scale was balanced _almost_ perfectly. Hermione turned her wrist just so, hoping to add only a few more granules of Floo powder, when a knock at the door interrupted her concentration and the Floo powder not only upset the scale, but precious granules were lost in the cracks of her table as well.

Huffing, she cleaned up the mess with her wand and ignored the call at her laboratory door. The knock came again, however, and rolling her eyes, she stood, stalking over to the door hoping to rid herself of the intrusion as swiftly as possible. She had mountains of work to do, and she still was having inconsistent conclusions to her advanced Floo powder formulae.

Upon opening the door and seeing Harry, her hopes about returning to work vanished quickly with the thought: _He’s here to talk about Ron._

“Hi, Harry.”

“I just wanted to talk about you and Ron,” Harry said.

Sighing, Hermione turned and led Harry into her laboratory in the Department of Mysteries, ducking her head to manoeuvre between random instruments and objects hanging from the rafters. She felt more than saw Harry jerk quickly to the side to avoid the things Hermione had become adept at sidestepping.

Harry followed her into the back, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he pushed aside a leather tube attached to what looked like a colander. Actually, perhaps it was a colander. A wizard wondering what a colander was used for, perhaps? Hermione hadn’t entirely taken stock of everything and what it did or didn’t do; there were more pressing matters, usually.

“What about me and Ron, Harry?” Hermione replied, distracted. She approached her workbench and sat down, picking up a small bottle of Floo powder and adjusting the angle of her magnifying glass. “And don’t _touch_ anything,” she said, looking up at the mirror positioned above her table so she could see behind her. Harry was peering around in curiosity, his fingers twitching as if they itched to take a better look at some of the odd things piled around her lab.

“Well, I’d kind of like to know how long he’s going to be sleeping at my place,” he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

Hermione dropped her gaze down to the self-addressed envelope on the table. She was trying to create a type of Floo powder that would transport objects instantaneously to a person. “I don’t know, Harry. As long as he wants to, I suppose.”

“Are you not going to talk to him? What’s been going on?”

Hermione turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “You mean, he hasn’t told you?”

Harry shrugged. “He seemed kind of defeated about it, so I just let him in, gave him some scotch, and found a room that wasn’t in too terrible a shape. I figured he’d tell me when he was ready, but it’s been a week, and nothing. Did he do something wrong?”

Hermione pursed her lips and turned back to her work. “No, of _course_ not. Ron could never do _anything_ wrong.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her sarcastic tone. “Okay...” he replied, and poked at a teapot sitting on the workbench next to him.

“Stop touching things, Harry.”

Harry snatched his hand away, looking sheepish.

“I’m just mad at Ron, okay? I didn’t kick him out; it was his decision to leave.”

“Yeah, but why?” Harry stepped over and peered over her shoulder. “Is that Floo powder?” He asked, reaching forward to poke at a small pile sitting in a mortar.

Hermione batted his hands away. “Yes, it is. And to answer your previous question, because he’s an unappreciative buffoon, that’s why.”

“That’s not a very good explanation,” Harry said as he moved away, rubbing the Floo powder between his fingers.

“It’s the only one I have to give you, Harry. If you want the rest of the story, talk to him. He’s _your_ best friend.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. You’re both my best friend. Best friend to me both. My best friends.” Harry huffed. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, then why don’t you tell your best friend _s_ why you broke up with Ginny? You kind of never gave us an explanation.”

Harry crossed his arms and looked down at his scuffed shoes. “Because...it wouldn’t have worked. She deserved better.”

Hermione turned around. “Better than you?”

“Just...trust me. She deserves someone who can love her like she should be loved. I’m not that person.”

Sighing at Harry’s continually vague answers, she turned back around and dusted the envelope with a bit of the powder in the bottle in her hand. Nothing.

She heard as Harry leaned heavily against the workbench behind him, upsetting a few items piled in the middle. A red croquet ball tumbled down and knocked into the teapot. Reacting quickly, Harry’s hands shot out and he caught the teapot just as it tipped off the edge of the table.

“Harry, I said don’t touch anything!” Hermione said, whirling around and scowling at him, her eyes darting around the table he had leaned against to see if anything else was amiss.

Harry gingerly set the teapot back down on the table, his hands out in case anything else decided to make any sudden movements.

Hermione turned back to her workbench and stared at the modified pots of Floo powder crowding the surface. She hadn’t made any progress in days. She mostly just stared at them and then went and distracted herself with some of the easier projects on her list. Her fight with Ron about her work had the opposite effect that having a fight with Ron usually did. Instead of burying herself in a project, she found herself feeling guilty and stopped spending much time on work at all. Her supervisor, Evanscroft, was not going to be happy with her report at the end of the week.

“I just want to help, if I can,” Harry said.

“I’m not sure there’s much you can do, Harry.”

There was a tiny clink of china, and Hermione looked up just in time to see a flash of bluish light reflected in the mirror. She squeezed her eyes shut against the brightness and cracked them open when the light on the other side of her eyelids dimmed. She heard a soft ‘pop’ and the breaking of porcelain. She blinked rapidly against the negative light burned into her retinas, and when the spots from her eyes faded enough for her to see, she saw that Harry wasn’t standing behind her anymore.

Spinning around on her stool she scanned the room for her friend. The lid to the teapot was on the floor, shattered, and Harry was no longer in the room.

“Harry?”

***

For probably the billionth time that year, Draco Malfoy cursed the Ministry and their “re-purposing” of the Malfoy family’s house elves, as he was once again, forced to come down the stairs to answer the door. Couldn’t do to have such a “Dark Wizarding family” keep servants that couldn’t tell the secrets of their masters, after all.

The bell rang again, and Draco cursed under his breath. “I’m coming!” he yelled down the staircase as he picked up his pace.

He skipped a step or two going down the stairs as the bell rang again, echoing throughout the mostly-empty house, sounding like an impatient caged crow wanting its supper.

“I said, I’m coming! _Merlin_ ,” Draco said, his heels clicking against the marble parquet-style flooring in the foyer. He pulled the door open, scowling.

“Potter,” he sighed as he realised who was gracing his doorstep. “I don’t know how to say this any more clearly. I don’t know where my father is. Neither does my mother. Now will you _please_ bugger off and leave us in peace? _Sir_ ,” he put in for good measure, gritting his teeth.

“Sir? What are you on about, Draco?” Potter said, pushing his way past Draco and into the foyer. “I was Flooing back to the Ministry after visiting that witch on the Burnsbury case, and-”

“The what? Potter, for Merlin’s sake, you’re tracking mud into my house. You have the manners of a stampeding elephant,” Draco scolded, sounding not unlike his mother, he realised. He looked at the grey skies outside before closing the door, the rain pouring down in a steady ‘shhh’. Fantastic.

“Oh. Sorry,” Potter said, taking out his wand and cleaning up the mess he had made. His hair was dripping onto his glasses, so he cleaned those too. “Anyway, when I arrived, I was in Diagon Alley...where I found _this_.” Potter held up a water-stained flyer with Draco’s father’s image on it, the words “LUCIUS MALFOY: STILL AT LARGE” printed in bold letters across the top. Lucius Malfoy’s face sneered at Draco from the flyer.

Draco put the most nonplussed look on his face he could muster. “Yes...and?”

“What’s going on? What has your dad done?”

Draco’s brow furrowed and he stared at Potter. Something was...off. “What do you mean, ‘what has he done’? Where have you been for the last two years, Potter? My _father_ ran off after you killed the Dark Lord and no one knows where he is. He’s being charged with crimes against humanity and consorting with the Dark Lord.”

“What are _you_ talking about? Are you sick or something?” Potter said, reaching up his hand toward Draco's forehead, but Draco jerked away. “Your dad was pardoned last year.”

“Have you been hit with a _Confundus_ charm, Potter? My father’s ‘at large’, like the poster says. You’ve been searching for him off and on for two years, now.”

“Um...no I haven’t. Also, why are you at your parent’s house? I thought they were putting it up for sale?”

Draco backed up a step, then pulled out his replacement wand, pointing it right at Potter’s head. “You’re not Potter. Who are you?”

Potter put up his hands, the flyer with Draco’s father on it falling to the ground. “Why do you keep calling me ‘Potter’? It’s just me, Harry. Are you okay, Draco?”

“I’m the one asking the questions, here, Potter. Who are you?”

“Harry Potter. Who are _you_? You’re acting like...”

Draco pressed his lips in a thin line. “Like what?”

“Nothing. Look, I was in Diagon Alley, and I saw this flyer, and I wanted to come over and make sure everything was okay. You weren’t in the office when I went back there. Or at Grimmauld Place.”

“ _What_ office, Potter? I don’t work in any office. I’m practically on house arrest until you find my father.”

“The office that we work in. You know? At the Ministry?”

Draco’s head tipped back and he laughed. “Me? Working at the Ministry? Wow, something has seriously dislodged in your brain, Potter.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What should I call you? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Potter shrugged. “We’ve been friends since we were eleven. You think you might call me by my first name.”

Draco blinked and stared at Potter. The man in front of him looked like Potter, even down to the stupid hair, glasses and scar, and he talked like Potter...but he wasn’t. That much Draco knew. Whoever this was, he was doing a piss-poor job of coming off as Potter, assuming it was just a glamour, or a Polyjuice Potion. Draco took another step back and raised his wand a little.

“ _You_ are _not_ Harry Potter.”

Not-Potter dropped his hands and sighed in what appeared to be mild agitation. “Well, you’re not really acting like Draco Malfoy, either.” 

“Yeah, well the difference is, I’m the one with the wand pointed at your head. And we’re going to the Ministry. Right now.” Draco gestured towards the door with his wand and followed behind as Not-Potter rolled his eyes and stepped towards the door.

“You know, Draco,” Not-Potter said as he opened the door and stepped outside, “when we get all of this sorted out, you’re going to feel right stupid holding me at wand point.”

“And you’re going to feel right stupid thinking you could convince me that you’re Harry Potter. I know him better than that.”

“Well, I should hope so. We’ve only spent half our lives around each other.”

Frowning, Draco grabbed onto Not-Potter’s arm and Apparated them straight to the alleyway containing the telephone box to the public entrance to the Ministry.

“Get in,” Draco said, shoving Not-Potter inside. Keeping an eye and a wand on his prisoner, Draco picked up the phone receiver and punched in 6-2-4-4-2. A witch’s voice rang out in the small box.

“ _State your business._ ”

“I have an imposter I need to turn in.”

“ _Names?_ ”

“Draco Malfoy and Not-Harry Potter.”

Two silver badges slid out of the coin slot, and Draco took them out and tossed the one that said “Not-Harry Potter” to Not-Potter and pinned his own on his jumper.

“Put that on.”

Not-Potter rolled his eyes. “This is so ridiculous. What do you plan on doing with me once we get inside?”

“I don’t know. Granger works here. Maybe I’ll take you to her. She’ll sort you out.”

They approached the wand checkpoint and registered their wands.

“That doesn’t look like your wand,” Not-Potter said.

“Well, it _is_. I had to replace it after Harry Potter stole mine,” Draco said, snatching his replacement wand away from the guard with more spite than was necessary.

“No, I didn’t,” Not-Potter said.

“I know _you_ didn’t,” Draco said irritably. “I said _Harry Potter_ stole it.”

“But I am Harry Potter.”

“No you’re not,” snapped Draco.

Draco pushed Not-Potter towards the lifts, shoving him inside and asking for the Department of Mysteries. “Granger works down there, yes?” he asked sharply to another wizard in the lift, who was looking at the way Draco man-handled Not-Potter into the lift with wide eyes.

“Granger who?” the wizard asked, bewildered.

Draco scoffed and watched as the wizard got off on the accounting Floor, looking back over his shoulder. Draco just scowled right back and watched as an interdepartmental memo flew in, hovering near his head. Draco batted it away and waited anxiously as the lift reversed course and descended all the way down to Level Nine.

“Since when does Hermione work in the D.O.M.?”

Draco cast Not-Potter a dirty look. “How should I know? Since the bloody war, I suppose.”

Once the doors opened, Draco pulled Not-Potter down the hall, looking left and right for some indication of Granger’s office. After a few doors, Draco started shouting “Granger!” hoping to get her to come out and spare him the trouble of finding her. He stopped and banged on a door. A harried witch popped out her head and barked, “What? What do you want? Who are you?”

“I’m looking for Granger.”

“Hermione Granger,” Not-Potter put in.

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know any Granger,” the witch said, and went to slam the door in their faces. Draco put out his hand to stop the door from closing.

“Well, can you find out? I don’t have all day.”

“Malfoy? Harry?”

Draco whirled around and found Granger’s bushy head poking out from a door that they had already passed.

“Granger, it’s about time!” Draco hurried back down the hall, ignoring the witch’s muttered curses as she slammed her door shut. He shoved Not-Potter in Granger’s direction and said, “Fix it.”

“Harry!” Granger said. “Thank God. I was frantic trying to figure out what happened to you. Come in.” She gestured them inside and closed the door behind them. As they ducked into her laboratory, Granger took Not-Potter by the shoulders and hugged him fiercely. Pulling away to arms length she added, “I _told_ you not to touch anything! It’s lucky you’re still in one piece!”

“Granger,” Draco said, “That’s not Potter.”

“What?” she replied, looking critically at the man before her. “What do you mean, he’s not Harry?”

“Well, for one, he thinks that he and I are _friends_ ,” Draco said, trying to put the proper amount of disgust in his tone.

“Because we _are_ ,” Not-Potter said, rolling his eyes. Draco thought the git might worsen his eye condition if he kept doing that. Not that Draco cared.

Granger dropped her hands and stepped back. “How’d Malfoy find you?”

“He didn’t. I went to the Manor. What are you doing down here, by the way?”

“Well, I work down here. Where were you before the Manor?”

“At Grimmauld Place.”

“And before that?”

“The Ministry, then Diagon Alley. Look, is this some kind of joke?”

“Harry, if that is who you are,” Granger said patiently, “the last time I saw you you were in here, touching things you shouldn’t have been, and then you were suddenly gone. So trust me, I’m asking questions because I want to make sure you’re okay, and to establish what happened, so I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Well, before Diagon Alley, I was in Chelsea.”

Granger furrowed her bushy brow. “Hmm... Would you mind sitting on this stool for me, please?”

Not-Potter rolled his eyes, but sat down. “You guys, this is ridiculous. I’m me – I’m Harry. C’mon, Draco, don’t you remember how we went through Auror training together? We had our first assignment last week.”

“No, I don’t remember, because it never happened. And stop calling me ‘Draco’. It’s creeping me out.”

“Malfoy, please, just relax and lower your wand. Maybe Harry’s just under a curse of some kind.”

“Pfft,” Draco snorted, but lowered his wand. “Weird bloody curse if you ask me.”

Granger cast _Lumos_ and asked Not-Potter, “Okay, Harry, I’m going to examine you. Can you look straight ahead for me?”

“Okay.” He looked ahead while Granger moved the tip of her wand back and forth.

“Now, can you follow the light?” Draco watched with increasing boredom while Not-Potter followed her instruction.

“Well,” Granger said, straightening after a moment, “pupil reaction seems normal. He doesn’t appear dazed, or under the influence of any spell or potion I know of.”

“Smashing,” Draco said scathingly.

“He just appears to be confused by his circumstances.”

“ _He_ is sitting right here.”

Granger looked sheepish, which wasn’t a really flattering look for her. “Right. Sorry. Harry, I’m going to ask you some questions to ascertain what you know. Okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Not-Potter looked not fine, which was interesting.

“When’s your birthday?” Granger asked.

Not-Potter looked at Granger like she’s grown another head. Standing, he said, “This is stupid.”

Malfoy had his wand up again in an instant. “Sit _down_ , Potter.”

“I think asking me when my birthday is is a waste of time. How is that information supposed to help us figure out what happened?”

“Harry, please answer the question.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe _you’re_ the ones under a curse or spell?”

“Not likely, Potter. You’re the only thing that’s weird.”

Not-Potter sighed and sat down. “Fine, Draco.”

Draco’s brow furrowed before he scowled at Not-Potter. “Make him stop talking to me, Granger.”

A look of dejection passed over Not-Potter’s face so quickly Draco almost thought he missed it. Then Not-Potter crossed his arms and said quietly, “You don’t need to be an arse.”

Draco lowered his wand and looked away. Why was he even still here? Granger had Not-Potter – she could figure out what was going on and fix it or whatever and it wouldn’t matter to Draco either way.

“When’s your birthday, Harry?” Granger asked gently.

“Thirty-first of July.”

“Your mother and father’s names?”

“Lily and James.”

“Is Sirius alive?”

A pause. “No.”

“How did he die?”

Not-Potter fidgeted in his seat. “Bellatrix LeStrange killed him.”

“This is all information you could get from the _Daily Prophet_. It doesn’t prove anything,” Draco said.

Granger gave him a look but ignored his comment otherwise. “Where? Where was he killed?” she asked Not-Potter.

“A few rooms over.”

“Okay...who’s your best friend?”

“Draco.”

“I am _not_.”

“ _Shut up_ , Malfoy,” Granger said. “How about your home? Where do you live?”

“Twelve Grimmauld Place.”

Draco’s head snapped up. “Grimmauld Place? You mean the Black family home?”

Not-Potter blinked, his brows knitting in confusion. “Uh...yeah? I live there.”

“But it’s not yours. How on earth do you even know where it is?”

“Sirius left it to me.”

“But you’re not even family.”

Granger interrupted before Not-Potter could respond. “Sirius was Harry’s godfather, Malfoy. You know that. Let’s just move on, shall we?”

Pursing his lips in dissatisfaction, Draco crossed his arms, and continued his bored glare at Not-Potter.

Sighing, Granger turned back to Not-Potter. “What’s your wand made out of?”

“Holly and a feather from Fawkes.”

“What happened to you in the Dark Forest the last night of the war?”

Not-Potter looked puzzled for a moment. “I...” He looked at Draco; just a glance, but it told of something more than just a passing concern for the answer he was about to give. “I died. Trying to save Draco from Voldemort.”

Draco huffed a little at the notion he needed _saving_ , but cringed inside at the Dark Lord’s name. Then a thought occurred to him. “What house were you in at Hogwarts?” Draco cut in before Granger could continue. He ignored the annoyed look Granger gave him and looked at Not-Potter expectantly.

“Slytherin,” Not-Potter answered promptly.

Granger’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“He said, ‘Slytherin’, Granger.”

“Harry,” Granger said patiently, “You were in Gryffindor, with me. And Ron.”

“Who? You mean Weasley?” Not-Potter’s lip curled up in disgust. “No. I was in Slytherin. Severus Snape was my Head of House. You guys should know this. I was not in the same house as that git.”

Granger stared at Not-Potter in shock. Stepping back, she leaned against a work bench. The pile of objects behind her clinked, and when she looked over her shoulder, she stared at an item for a while before turning back to Not-Potter.

“Harry, where did you say you were before Diagon Alley?”

“I was visiting a witness in a case Draco and I are working on. I Flooed back to the Ministry, but came out into Diagon Alley.”

“That’s interesting. And there’s not really much way to say the wrong Floo address between those two locations, is there?”

“I guess not.”

“So you believe that Malfoy is an Auror?”

“Yes. We went through training together. We just started taking our own cases last week.”

“Hmm.” Granger crossed her arms and tapped the pads of her fingers against her lips in thought.

“So?” Draco said, impatient. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, let’s look at the evidence. Harry was here in my lab about an hour before you arrived with this Harry, who thinks he was in Slytherin, that you and he are partners in the Auror Division, that believes your father was pardoned for his part in Voldemort’s war, and thinks Ron is a pillock.”

“He _is_ a pillock,” both Draco and Not-Potter said at the same time. Not-Potter smirked at Draco when he looked over, but Draco scowled in return.

“Regardless,” Granger said, “I’ve been experimenting with some Floo powder trying to make it usable to transport objects from one destination to another without the aid of a person, and without the aid of a Floo, hopefully. I want to eventually diminish the need for owls.”

“That sounds like a complete waste of time.” A thought occurred to Draco, but he wasn’t sure if voicing it would make him sound like an idiot. Well, it was an interesting idea, so what the hell? “You’re saying something happened with the Floo powder? That’s why Not-Potter is here?”

“Hey!” Not-Potter said in protest.

Pursing her lips at Draco’s comment, Granger finished her explanation. “I haven’t had complete success, yet. Most things wind up at my flat, as they should, but the rest either disappear to some unknown location, or...disintegrate.”

“Lovely,” Draco said, his lip curling at the thought. Not-Potter looked a little green.

“You mean I might have used some of this experimental powder?” Not-Potter asked.

“No. I don’t think so. I think that the Harry that was here earlier touched something in this pile just after touching some of this powder, and that somehow caused him to be switched with you.”

There was a short pause before Draco said, “Wait. Are you telling me that your _logical_ explanation for this is that Potter travelled between dimensions and some other Potter is here now?”

“Well, with the aid of experimental Floo powder, crummy timing and some magic, yes. Is it so hard to believe that something like this could happen when you can Apparate from one side of the country to the other in a second?”

“Yes! In fact, it is _very_ hard to believe,” Draco said, looking at Granger as if her logic might have got stuck in her bushy hair somewhere when he wasn’t looking. “Couldn’t he have just had his memories erased or changed or something?”

“He’s not exhibiting any signs that his memory has been tampered with. No missed time, no glazed look. It would have taken a long time for someone to build such an elaborate memory set. There’s no way it could have been done between the time he disappeared, found you, then came here.”

“So...I’m from another dimension,” Not-Potter said, more to himself.

“Well, it’s a theory, anyway,” Granger said. “I can run some more tests and do a full examination to be sure. You know, it’s lucky you’re here, if that is what happened. You could have been splinched...or dead, if you wound up in some netherspace.”

“Oh, that would be _terribly_ unlucky, wouldn’t it?” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Hermione,” Not Potter said. “Draco’s really smart. He’ll help you out.”

“No, I won’t,” Draco said, straightening.

“I’ll figure it out,” Granger said, sounding as if she did this every day. “In the meantime, what should we call you?”

“How about ‘Harry’?”

Granger’s face turned a strange shade of pink and she looked down. “Well, yes, I guess I thought since you may not be _our_ Harry, it might be confusing when talking about the two of you.”

“But either way, I’m still Harry.”

Granger looked uncomfortable, and Not-Potter looked unapologetic.

Awkward.

“Right. Well, since you’ve got all that sorted, I’ll just be on my way,” Draco said. He pushed away from the table he’d been leaning against and moved to the door.

Not-Potter leapt after him. “Draco, wait.”

Draco turned around and put out a hand to stop Potter in his tracks. “Stop. Just stop. Don’t call me that. I don’t care if I was your best mate in your world, assuming you actually are some Potter from another universe where I must be living in hell. You are not my friend. I _hate_ you. I brought you to Granger. She’ll sort you out, so leave me alone.” Draco then turned and stalked out of the Department of Mysteries, happy to return to the Manor so he could enjoy some of the whisky left in his father’s drinks cabinet.

***

Harry turned around and the look on his face told Hermione everything she needed to know. Gently, she said, “Things are different here, Harry. Me and Ron – _we’re_ your best friends, and Malfoy...well, aside from Voldemort, he’s probably been the bane of your life.”

“But I don’t...I mean, I know this isn’t my world – it can’t be, it’s too backwards – but how? Draco’s always been there for me. Even when he had to go against his own family to be there for me. Even when I thought he was betraying me, he was doing it _for_ me. What do I do if I can’t even talk to him? You heard him; he _hates_ me.” Harry sat down heavily on a stool and hung his head. He looked so hurt, and Hermione didn’t know what to say. She had a hard time seeing Malfoy as the type to be there for anyone but himself.

“I doubt he really hates you, Harry. Even here,” she said, pulling something out of thin air. “He’ll probably realize he doesn’t know you. Not _you_ you, you know? The you that grew up with him as a best mate...he doesn’t know that Harry. So maybe you need to show him. I’m sure it couldn’t hurt.”

“He’s just never really been like this before with me. We’ve been in rows before, sure, but he never said anything like _that_.”

“He hasn’t really been like that with you, but maybe with others?” Hermione prodded, curious as to this Harry’s perception of Malfoy. There seemed to be a lot of similarities between this Harry and her Harry...who was to say both Malfoys weren’t similar?

Harry shrugged. “He can be a bit of an arse, sure. But he’s still my best friend.”

“He thinks of me as a Mudblood, Harry.”

“I know. He was never entirely pleased that I was friends with you. Back in my world, I mean.”

“So _we_ were friends, but you and Ron weren’t?”

A sour look crossed Harry’s face. “He’s such a... _berk_. He gives me and Draco so much shit – for no reason! He just hates Draco because he’s rich and Weasley’s poor.”

Feeling a little indignant, Hermione said sharply, “Maybe Ron hates Malfoy because Malfoy always treats Ron like he’s below him. Just because he doesn’t have a lot of money and doesn’t have a problem with Muggles is no reason for him to be a prick.”

Harry blinked at Hermione’s little outburst and held up his hands as if to ward off what she thought was a rather piercing glare. “Okay, I’m sorry. I get it. You and Ron are friends here. And I don’t have a problem with Muggles, you probably know that.” He raked his hands through his hair and let his breath expel loudly. “This is all kind of...weird. I mean, _you_ seem just like my Hermione. She even works down here, in the Department of Mysteries, doing...whatever it is that you apparently do down here,” he said, looking around. “But that...that wasn’t Draco. And he’s saying – _you’re_ saying that Mr. Malfoy is a fugitive still, and that Draco and I hate each other, and it’s just a lot to take in. Draco’s different in my world, okay? He’s not like that. And he doesn’t think he’s _above_ anyone.” Hermione snorted, rather unladylike at that, but Harry continued on. “And _you’ve_ helped show him that being Muggleborn isn’t a bad thing.”

“Me?” Hermione replied, doubtfully.

“Well, he couldn’t really avoid you very much when we became friends. It took him a while, but your big brain helped us out of a few scrapes, and I think he eventually got it that Muggles and Muggleborns weren’t inferior. Plus, you guys seemed to realize you had a common interest in the library.” Hermione watched Harry’s eyes and the little smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth while talking about Malfoy. “He’s not perfect but-”

“You love him.”

Harry caught Hermione’s eyes and then quickly looked away. Shrugging, he said, “Sure, you know, he’s my best mate. We’ve been through a lot.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but let the subject drop.

“I guess,” Harry said, standing, “well, I should just go to Grimmauld Place until we can figure this thing out?” He flapped his arms at his sides for a second, clearly uncertain as to his next move.

Sighing a little, Hermione looked around the room. “Yeah, let’s pick this up tomorrow. It’s not like I can keep you here like a lab rat. Or, rather, I could, and should, but I’m not going to. I need to organize some things and go home and do some research.”

Harry smirked. It looked odd and familiar at the same time. “I see _that_ hasn’t changed.”

“What?”

“You’re still a complete bookworm.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” she said, smiling.

“Like I said, it’s helped me more than once. I should probably be going.” Harry moved towards the door and opened it.

“Hey, Harry?”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“Are Ron and I... Are we together? In your world?”

Harry looked puzzled and faintly disturbed by the question. “No. Why?”

Hermione looked away. “No reason.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

“Right. Bye.”

“Bye.”

With another sigh that was bound to be one of many, Hermione went about cataloguing the room just as it was when Harry disappeared, and thinking up theories and dismissing almost every one. Could it be a spell that’s altered Harry’s memory? Or is her crazy theory derived from growing up reading too many science fiction and fantasy novels really all that crazy?

Well, she’d get to the bottom of it either way, with or without Malfoy’s help.

***

When the bell rang for the second time that day, Draco settled in deeper to his armchair and thought, “Sod them”; he wasn’t getting up for anything.

The bell rang again, and Draco turned the page in his book.

“Draco, the door!” his mother called.

Groaning, he marked his page and set the book down, uncurling his legs from the chair. He never remembered the door being this obnoxious when they’d had house elves. It was almost as if it never rang at all. Trotting down the hall, the bell rang again.

“Hold on!” he huffed, before wrenching open the door, not bothering to contain his absolute annoyance.

It was Potter. Again.

“I take it you’re still not fixed. What are you doing here? I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

“You did. But I went back to Grimmauld Place and it just wasn’t the same. The sofa was in a different place, and there were pictures of Hermione and Weasley and me all over the house. And it looked like some of Weasley’s stuff was there.” He made a face, and Draco was almost amused. Almost.

“Well, it’s your house, Potter, kick him out if you want. But why are you _here_?”

“Look, I know we’re not best friends in this world. Or friends at all. I know you hate the other Harry, but that’s not me, okay? In my world, you’re my best mate. And I really need my best mate right now.”

“I’m not him either, Potter.”

There was a pause before Not-Potter said, “You know what I did when I got here?”

“I don’t know, took some fairy dust? That would explain a lot.”

Potter smirked, chuckling. “No. I saw that poster of your dad and I went to your flat to see what was going on. But it wasn’t your flat. It belonged to some old lady with blue hair. So I came here, worried because I thought something had happened to you, too. Because you’re my best mate, and whatever’s going on, in whatever world, or dimension or whatever, I’m going to be there for you. Because you’ve always been there for me. Even when it wasn’t in your best interest to be.”

Furrowing his brow, Draco said, “Potter, that’s all really touching and all-”

“Plus,” Not-Potter said, speaking as if Draco hadn’t said anything, “I just really hate Weasley.”

Draco couldn’t help it, a bit of laughter escaped from his throat. Thinking his next move could only be chalked up to spending too much time in his empty house, he cleared his throat and said, “Okay, you can come in. But only if you explain that one to me.”

Not-Potter stepped inside, a lot more carefully than he had before, as if the house was now spelled to keep him out. He looked around, perhaps trying to find anything out of place. Appearing to find nothing amiss, he looked back at Draco and smiled a little.

“I need a scotch,” Draco said, unnerved by Not-Potter’s staring. He moved past him towards the sitting room.

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had. Maybe besides stealing the Marauder’s Map from the Weasley twins,” Not-Potter said as he followed behind.

“That never happened, Potter. Whatever the Marauder’s Map is.”

“It’s really crap that you don’t remember – ‘cause we got up to some awesome stuff back at Hogwarts.”

“It’s not that I don’t remember, it’s that it didn’t happen to me,” Draco said as he poured two tumblers with some of his dad’s most expensive scotch. Fuck him, anyway, wherever he was.

“Right, sorry. You just look exactly like my Draco...it’s hard to remember that you’re not him.”

The words “my Draco” fiddled around in Draco’s head a bit before he washed them away with a bit of alcohol. Handing Potter his tumbler and sitting down in the armchair next to him, the hearth between them, he said, “You look exactly like Potter, but you’re not. For one, you don’t appear to like wearing those hideous Weasley jumpers.”

Potter shuddered in his seat. “God, those are pretty terrible, aren’t they?”

“Okay, so tell me why you hate Weasley. It better be a good story; I don’t just let anyone raid my father’s one-hundred year-old scotch.”

Potter shrugged. “It’s pretty simple, really. He’s an arsehole.”

“Well, that I know. I’ve been saying it for years, and no one believes me.”

“Well, you can be an arsehole, too.”

“Yeah, but you apparently like that sort of thing, since Gryffindor-you is best mates with that tosser.”

Taking a drink, Potter said, “I do like that sort of thing.”

Draco shot him a calculated look over his tumbler. Potter was smiling at him in that unnerving way. “How did you and I become...friends?” he asked carefully, completely aware that knowing wouldn’t make this whole thing any less awkward, but his curiosity was piqued.

“We met at Madam Malkins. I was waiting to get fitted for robes, and you and your mum walked in, and you slipped; it was raining outside. You fell into me and I broke your fall, and that was kind of that. Oh, and you saw my scar. You seemed really happy to meet me, and at the time, I had no idea why. I didn’t grow up knowing anything about my heritage. Being a wizard was all new to me.”

“Madam Malkins, huh? Interesting.”

“Why interesting?”

“I vaguely remember that day. I guess you must have been the other boy I was talking to. But you didn’t really say much, from what I remember. I don’t think it was raining. I would have remembered meeting ‘The Famous Harry Potter’, I’m sure.”

“You always did all of the talking, really. Still do. Got top marks in interrogation tactics at the Auror Academy.”

Draco scrunched his nose. “The thought of me being an Auror is just beyond my comprehension.”

“What do you do, then?”

“I’m a professional gentleman, Potter. Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, since you clearly need it.”

Smiling, Potter set down his tumbler and leaned forward on his knees. “You know, it doesn’t seem like you’re that much different from my Draco...why don’t you apply? To be an Auror, I mean. You probably have the aptitude for it. I did okay on my N.E.W.T.s, but you’re the one that got me through the written stuff. Applying practical knowledge was never my problem. Memorizing information was. And that was all you. Him. Whatever. I’m sure if you just applied-”

Draco held up his hand. “I’m going to stop you right there, Potter. There’s a reason I don’t leave my house very often.”

He set his drink down and pulled up the sleeve on his left arm. The Dark Mark stood out against the pale skin, even though it faded after Voldemort’s death. Draco looked up to gauge Potter’s reaction. His mouth was open and his eyes were owlish behind his specs. Mostly what he expected.

“They don’t really let this through the door of the Academy, Potter.”

“I...I...” Potter floundered for a moment. “What the hell, Draco?”

Draco shrugged, pulling down his sleeve and picking up his drink. “It is what it is, Potter. I’ve learned over the past few years not to dwell on the mistakes I’ve made. I can’t change them, so there’s no point.”

“What... what did you do?”

“To get the Mark?”

Potter nodded.

“Actually, I failed. And this was my penance.”

“Voldemort branded you because you failed? Failed what?”

Draco laid it all out. “To kill Dumbledore.”

Potter sat back, taking in this information. Eventually, he said, “My Draco failed too. I mean, Snape killed Dumbledore. But Draco wasn’t given the Mark. I guess, though, Voldemort never had much of a chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Draco was with me pretty much the whole time after he attempted to kill Dumbledore, so Voldemort wouldn’t have had much opportunity to Mark him.”

“I see,” Draco said, not really understanding. He stood to replenish his drink.

“Why? Where were you? What happened?”

“Snape killed Dumbledore, we fled, and I was essentially living with the lunatic for a year. He had every opportunity, and he took it. The second he could.”

“Oh. That sounds...”

“Horrible? Terrifying? Painful? Yeah, it was.” Draco kept his back turned for a moment, fiddling with the family crest ring on the middle finger of his left hand before returning to his seat.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity, Potter.”

“I don’t pity you, Draco, I just... I’m sorry you had to go through that. That your Harry isn’t friends with you, so you couldn’t be protected from that.”

Draco scowled the deadliest death glare he could at Not-Potter. “I don’t need protecting, Potter. By you, or anyone else. I’m not some charity case like girl-Weasley that you have to take pity on, as if I can’t take care of myself. Though I guess she probably takes care of plenty of other things for you, doesn’t she?”

Potter looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You and the Weasley girl. Last time I heard, you two were pretty cosy. At least, in this world you were.”

“Uh...no. Not in my world. I don’t really talk to the Weasleys, remember? Besides, I like blokes.”

Draco choked on his scotch. “What?” he said, staring at Potter and wiping up some precious drops from his chin. Oh, how unbecoming.

“I said, I like blokes. You know? I’m gay?”

Draco sat back and mused on this information for a moment before coming to a realisation and rolling his eyes. “Oh Merlin,” he said, putting a hand to his face, and made a short cry of frustration at the universe.

“Uh...I thought wizards didn’t care about that sort of thing. Do they care about that sort of thing in this world?”

Draco took his hand away. “Do you realise how much Skeeter would have _paid_ me for that information?”

“Er...what?”

Ignoring Potter’s confusion, Draco said, “You know, this doesn’t really surprise me. You were always too chummy with Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if you and Weasley got your oats. The idea is absolutely revolting, but I don’t think it would surprise me.”

“Ew,” Harry said, taking up his tumbler and finishing off his drink before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Just hearing that come out of your mouth makes me feel sick. And I think I’d say that even if I was your Harry. Also, I was never ‘chummy’ with Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory. Not in my world.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Whenever you say ‘my Draco’ or ‘your Harry’ I get this strange image of you and I being bunk mates.”

“Well, we were. Sometimes. When I had nightmares, mostly.” Potter looked down into his empty glass then stood and helped himself to more scotch. Draco was being a terrible host, but oh well. It was Potter for Merlin’s sake.

“Nightmares?” he asked. “What on earth do you have nightmares about?” Draco had always been certain Potter slept like a baby, Saviour of the Wizarding World and all that.

“Lots of things. Dying, mostly. Me, you, Hermione, other people I care about. But I also had visions. From Voldemort.” He finished filling his scotch and came back to sit down.

“Visions? How?” Draco asked, honestly curious.

Potter tapped his scar. “This. It connected me to Voldemort. I’d be dreaming, and sometimes I was watching things. Things that I found out later would actually have happened. And I was watching from Voldemort’s point of view.”

Draco didn’t know quite how to respond. “Hm,” was what came out.

“Draco?”

“Yes?” he responded automatically, not really hearing.

“Draco? Hello?”

“What?” Draco said, snapping back to attention.

“Nothing. You just sorta...disappeared on me.”

Draco frowned. “So...what? You’d crawl into my bed after this would happen?” he asked, remembering the original question.

“No, you’d crawl into mine. Usually.”

Draco opened his mouth to contest this information, but his mother’s voice stopped him.

“Draco? Who...? Oh, Auror Potter. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit today?” Her voice sounded tight, and Draco pursed his lips.

There was a light in Potter’s eyes as he saw Draco’s mother and he looked ready to leap up and do something probably horrifyingly familiar with Draco’s mum, but he caught the look on Draco’s face and seemed to restrain himself from whatever he was about to do.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter said. “Er...nothing. Just catching up with Draco, here.”

A faintly puzzled look came across her brow. “Ah. Well, do let me know if you need anything. Draco, when Auror Potter leaves, I’ll need your help with the laundry.”

“Yes, mum,” Draco said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Auror Potter. Have a good day.”

As Draco’s mother left the room, Potter said, “Wow. She looks...”

“What, Potter?” Draco snapped.

Potter shrugged. “Different. Not happy. Older. Like she did during the war.”

“Well, what do you expect? Her husband’s been missing for two years. And all you Aurors keep doing is pestering her about his whereabouts. I’d probably look old and tired, too.”

After a moment Potter said, “You? Look old? I think you’d probably have a fit at the first wrinkle.”

Draco almost smiled. Talking to this Potter was too easy. Disarming. Draco didn’t like it. “Stop talking,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I think it’s time you left.”

“Oh. Okay,” Potter said, pressing his lips together.

Draco led Potter out to the foyer and turned towards him as he opened the door. Potter stopped before going through the opening and said, “I’m sorry. If anything I said upset you.”

“You’re always upsetting, Potter. But...thanks...for sharing some scotch with me.” Draco cringed inside. He should eat something, the scotch was clearly going to his head.

“Of course. Any time,” he said, clapping Draco on the shoulder.

Then there was an awkward moment wherein Draco thought Potter might try and...hug him or something else equally disturbing, but Potter just held out his hand with a smile.

Draco took it and shook briefly.

“Nice to...meet you,” Potter said.

“Yes. I mean, you too,” Draco replied.

Draco watched as Potter entered the drive before Apparating.

Well. That was...interesting.

***

Hermione finished her letter to Ron about Harry’s current condition and her basic theory and sent it off via the traditional owling method. As she watched the bird take flight, she dreamed of a Wizarding world – no, the whole world – taking advantage of an instant mailing system. Sending a parcel from London to New York would no longer take over a week; a letter to Hermione’s grandmum in Manchester would be instantaneous – you’d be able to enjoy a missive immediately, without taking away that feeling you get when you’ve received a letter in the mail.

She stepped away from the window and turned down the hall, returning to her office and pack up for the trip home. As she approached her lab door to leave, it burst open and Ron stepped inside, a frantic look on his face, his Quality Quidditch Supplies uniform askew.

“Hermione! I got here as fast as I could! What’s going on? Where’s Harry?” Hermione’s letter was crumpled up in his hand.

“Oh, Ronald, calm down.”

“How am I supposed to calm down when you sent me a letter saying Harry had disappeared?”

“Because I sent you a letter, and didn’t Apparate immediately to your location and drag you back? It’s not an emergency, Ron.” Hermione sighed. She knew she should’ve told Ron in person. “Did you even finish reading the letter?”

As his panting slowed, Ron licked his lips and said, “Well, no, but-”

“If you had,” Hermione said, pushing Ron out of the way, then motioning him to follow her out of her office so she could lock it, “you’d know that I don’t quite know where Harry is, or what exactly happened, but I suspect that he’s in another dimension, where he and Malfoy are friends, you and he hate each other, and he was a Slytherin at Hogwarts.”

To his credit, Ron didn’t burst into a round of expletives or loud “whats” and “hows”. He merely continued reading the letter then said, “This makes absolutely no sense.”

“I find it odd that wizards raised with magic have a hard time accepting the fantastical but people like me and Harry are perfectly accepting of all the universe has to offer,” she said as they entered the lift.

“Wait...was that an insult?”

“No. Not really. You know, your father is so fascinated by Muggles and their ability to survive without magic, so you’d think maybe he raised you to be a little more open minded.”

“Okay, fine. Where is this other Harry, then?”

 “He said he was going to Grimmauld Place. I imagine he’s there.”

As they stepped off the lift, Ron said, “Well, then that’s where I’m going.” He made a beeline for the Floo Network.

“What? Ron, _no_. The last thing Harry needs is for you to go marching up to him right now, demanding explanations.”

“I don’t believe that he’s just in some other dimension. I have to see for myself.” Ron grabbed a bit of Floo powder and tossed it into a fireplace.

“But what about work? You just ran out on a shift!”

Stepping into the bright green flames Ron turned to face her and said, “I’ll tell them it was a family emergency. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!” And then he was gone in a flash and the flames died down to a merry yellow glow.

Pursing her lips, Hermione pulled out some spare parchment and a quill from her satchel. She penned a quick note to Ron’s employers and rushed over to the nearest Owlry to send it off. Almost tripping over her robe, she went back to the fireplaces and immediately sent herself after Ron.

When she arrived in Grimmauld Place, the first thing she noted was the raised voices coming from the kitchen. Setting her bag down, she rushed to the back, just in time to see Ron block a hex from Harry.

“Ron, Harry, stop!”

Harry was panting, but he didn’t lower his wand. “Get this arse out of my house, Hermione.”

“Harry, I’m sorry, I tried to stop him –”

Ron, who had lowered his wand, said, “Harry, I just wanted to know who did this to you. I’m sorry, mate, I just wanted to see if you were okay with my own eyes.”

“I’m _not_ your mate. I’m not the Harry you know. Draco is my best friend, not you, and you need to leave. _Now._ ”

“Er...well, I’m kind of staying here,” Ron said.

“I don’t care. Take your stuff and go.”

“Harry, please calm down. Ron’s just worried about you.”

“No, not me. The other Harry. And that’s fine. But I don’t need him to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“And the other Harry can, too,” Hermione said. “Just, please, lower your wand. Let’s sit down and talk about this like reasonable people. Ron isn’t here to hurt you. Just like you’re not our Harry, he’s not your Ron, either.”

After a moment, Harry lowered his wand. “Okay. Fine.” He gestured to the dining table, and they all gingerly took seats around it.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said again. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just didn’t believe Hermione when she told me what was going on.”

Harry shrugged, still kind of tense. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I should know by now to listen to Hermione.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Yeah, it’s helped me more than once.” Ron smiled, too, and for a moment, Hermione had a hard time remembering that Harry, _their_ Harry, wasn’t in the room.

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said, splaying her hands on the table. “So, this situation is obviously very strange, even by our standards. What we need to do is figure out how we’re going to deal with it.”

“Okay. Well, okay,” Ron said, his eyes searching, but he was clearly trying to sort out his thoughts and take stock of the situation. “You’re the best at research, ‘Mione, so maybe you should focus on that,” Ron said. “Are you still an Auror in your dimension or whatever?” he asked Harry.

Harry nodded once. “Yes.”

“Okay, good. You think you could manage still being an Auror here? I can’t imagine it’s that different.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s better than sitting around waiting for a solution.”

“Ron, I still don’t know how our Harry managed to get switched in the first place. I might need this one here around to figure out what happened.”

“Well, he’ll already be at the Ministry. It’s an easy cover. Plus, we can’t just pull him out of work for an undetermined amount of time...people are going to wonder what’s wrong. It’s better that we just pretend like everything is the same as it always has been.”

Hermione felt a longing in her heart. She rarely saw the Ron that sat before her right now, and she missed him dearly. Ron wasn’t usually credited with his intellect, but he was great at thinking out plans, even if Hermione was the one usually keeping them all on track.

“What about you?” Harry asked Ron. “What will you do?”

Ron thought for a minute. “Well, it’s not like I can take off work either, but I’ll help with anything I can. Harry and I are best mates. I know everything about him. You have any questions, just ask.”

“Alright.”

Hermione looked back and forth between Ron and Harry and thought, _I don’t think you know everything, Ron._

“Okay, well, now that that’s taken care of, Ron, I sent an owl to the Quidditch shop explaining your sudden absence. Hopefully that’s enough to keep your job.”

“Er...thanks,” Ron said, appearing mildly annoyed.

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “I didn’t meant to-”

Ron held up a hand and dropped it nonchalantly. “No, it’s okay. I get it.”

Harry looked back and forth between Hermione and Ron, clearly confused. “Uh...is everything okay?”

“It’s nothing, Harry. We’re just...” Hermione trailed off.

“Is it okay if I still stay here?” Ron cut in. “I’ll stay out of your way. I promise. I’m mostly at work, anyway.”

Hermione sat back and Harry shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine. I mean, if you live here anyway, I don’t want to kick you out.”

“Thanks, mate.” Ron said, smiling a little.

Hermione stood. “Well, I think I’ll be going. I have a lot of research to do. Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow morning? I’ll see what I can figure out tonight.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, Hermione,” he said, smiling.

“You’re welcome. Have a good night, you two.”

“G’night,” they said in unison.

Hermione smiled in a way she felt was somewhat sadly, and left the boys to their devices. She went back to the sitting room and picked up her satchel where it fell in front of the fireplace.

“Hermione?”

She turned around to see Ron standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

Ron took a step into the room, looking down at his fiddling hands. “Hermione, I’m...”

“It’s okay, Ron. You don’t need to explain.”

Ron dropped his hands and looked up at her. “This sucks.”

Hermione looked down. “Ron, you know you can come back home.”

“I know.” He raised his hand as if to caress her cheek, but dropped it and gave her an awkward kiss on the forehead instead.

“Bye, Hermione.”

“Bye, Ron.”

Watching him leave the room, Hermione let out a sigh before she entered the Floo and clearly stated her address. Stepping out of the fireplace into her living room, she moved into her dining room and set her satchel down on the seat of a chair, taking off her robes and folding them over the back.

Leaning a hip against the countertop, she bowed her head, bringing up a hand to rub at the spot in just between her eyebrows. She attempted a slow, deep breath, her chin trembling slightly. After a few moments, her breathing steadied and her rationale began to settle back in. Ron had every right to be concerned about Harry – both Harrys – and maybe he had every right to be upset with her. She just wanted him back.

She wanted them _both_ back.

***

Hermione was in the middle of examining, cataloguing and testing every item on the table Harry had knocked the teapot from when a rhythmic tapping came on her laboratory door.

“Come in,” she called.

The door creaked open, and Malfoy stepped in. He held up a strap full of tomes. “I might have found a few books that could help,” he said.

Hermione blinked and set down the shoe horn she was working on. “Thanks,” she said, holding out her hand to take the proffered books, not sure what else to say. “Why?”

“I figured since all I ever do recently is read, I might as well be useful.” Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets in the most un-Malfoy-like way, and continued to hold her gaze until she looked away, almost as if challenging her to question it.

So she did. “Why do you care? You were happy enough to shove the problem off of me yesterday.”

Malfoy shrugged and started looking around the room. “I don’t really need or want a Potter that thinks he’s my best friend, so I’d prefer to bring back the one that hates me.” He turned to look at her. “Why? Isn’t that enough?”

Hermione shrugged and turned to another workbench, laying out the books for inspection. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. I just find it strange, is all. What, no page markers?” she asked, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“I never said I was going to do all the work for you, Granger.”

Rolling her eyes, she waited for him to turn around and leave, but instead, he reached up to poke at a tassel from a malfunctioning flying carpet someone had brought to England from the Middle East.

“Be careful, that carpet has a mind of its own,” Hermione chided.

Pulling his hand away quickly, Malfoy rubbed his fingers together as if doing so would keep the rug from attacking him. “Granger, does your...” Malfoy trailed off, as if unsure whether or not to go on. “Does your Potter have nightmares?” Malfoy was eyeing the carpet dangling above him.

“I’m sorry?”

He looked back to her. “Potter. The one that’s not here. Does he have nightmares? Visions about the Dark Lord?”

“He used to. I don’t think he has them anymore. How do you know that?”

“He stopped by yesterday afternoon. The other one, mean. We had a chat.”

“And he just decided to tell you about that?”

“You can think it’s strange, but this one might actually want to tell me things. Since we’re supposed to be ‘best mates’ and all.”

Hermione thumbed through the indexes of each book. “Yeah, but do you want to listen?”

After a long pause, Malfoy said, “Whatever. You can keep the books.” He turned to leave.

“It might do you good to talk to him more,” Hermione said to his back. He stopped just as he opened the door.

“It might do me good to not be reminded constantly of how much I’ve fucked up my life. Good day, Granger.” The door slammed behind him.

Sighing, Hermione sat down to pour over the books Malfoy had left her, determining that if Malfoy wanted to change, he would, and there was nothing she could do about it.

***

A few hours later, Hermione sent an inter-department memo up to Harry, asking him to come down to her laboratory whenever he had the time to do so. About ten minutes later, there was a knock on her door, and Harry poked his head in.

“Harry, come in, come in,” she said, beckoning him closer.

Harry entered and closed the door behind him. “Hey, Hermione. Figure anything out yet?”

“Well, not so much. I mostly wanted to see how you were doing, and how work was.”

“Oh. Well, it’s mostly the same. My desk is in a different spot, and my partner is kind of odd. I remember him from my world, but we didn’t talk much.”

“Ah. Have any problems catching up with what the other Harry was doing?”

“Just a little. He was finishing up some paperwork on a case he’d just finished, and since I don’t know what happened, I kept asking Freeman – my partner – a lot of questions. He started looking at me funny, so I stopped. Your memo came just in time.” Harry smiled.

“Yes, I guess we didn’t think too much about that last night.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll manage.”

“Maybe suggest you tried out a new Weasley Wizarding Wheezes product, and your brain is a bit scrambled.”

“That’s the shop the Weasley twins opened up, right?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. Well, with Fred gone it’s just George now. Ron helps out occasionally. You and Ron try out new products of theirs all the time. Within reason,” she said, smiling.

“Oh. Okay. Good idea,” Harry said.

“Guess who just-”

“Speaking of-”

“Oh, sorry, you go ahead.”

“No, you,” Harry said.

“Oh. Well, I was just going to say, Malfoy stopped by a few hours ago. Dropped off these books,” Hermione said, gesturing to the books laid open on her table.

“Draco was here?” Harry’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, he thought these books might help our little...predicament.”

“Oh.”

“He mentioned you guys talked yesterday.”

“Yeah. I, uh, stopped by his house, and he didn’t kick me out.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose, yeah.”

“He asked me about your nightmares.”

“Really?”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah. I found it interesting that you told him. I mean, I guess you would, since he probably already knows in your world. He seemed curious. Wanted to know if our Harry had them too.”

Harry smiled a little to himself. “Yeah, Draco’s always been a little curious. Sometimes too much for his own good.”

“That would explain a lot,” Hermione replied. “Anyway, I cut you off, what were you going to say?”

“Oh. Nothing. I just wanted to ask you about Weasley.”

“What about him?”

“He seemed kind of upset when you left. He wouldn’t really talk about it, but I got the feeling that you guys had a row or something.”

“To say the least,” she said more to herself as she turned to the books. “Ron and I...we have been in a row, yes. He’s my...boyfriend. Has been since the war. Though I’ve been in love with him since we were fourteen or so.” Hermione felt her lips turn up into a smile.

“Oh. That’s...nice.”

Hermione turned to Harry. “I know it’s hard for you to see, because you hate Ron so much in your world, but he’s really more than a hot-headed arsehole. Which he _can_ be sometimes, I know. He can also be really kind, and brave, and he supports his friends, even when he could be killed doing so. He’s fiercely loyal. And I love that about him. But…he can let jealousy get the best of him sometimes, and he just… He’s upset at me because of how much I work, how much of it I bring home. And he isn’t off living his dream like he wants to. He’s working some stupid job in Diagon Alley, and, well, I think he thinks I think less of him or something, but I _don’t_ , and I just want him to be happy.”

Harry blinked behind his specs. “I…er… I’m sorry? I mean, that’s crap. I’m sorry you’re fighting over that.”

Hermione sighed. “Well, there isn’t a lot you can do. If he doesn’t want to come home just yet, neither of us can make him. He’s kind of stubborn that way.”

Harry stepped forward and gave Hermione a hug. She planted her face in his chest and breathed in. Funny, he still smelled the same.

Pulling away, she pushed her hair out of her face. “Some of the things I found in Malfoy’s books might prove useful. I’m just not entirely sure, yet. I’m still cataloguing all of the things that were on the table Harry was near before he vanished. I’m hoping I can find a clue as to what exactly he was touching when it happened. I suspect the teapot, seeing as the lid is broken, but I don’t think the teapot itself has any particular attributes that make it viable as a inter-dimensional portal-opening device.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Let me know if you need to experiment on me or something.”

Hermione looked up at Harry’s beguiling smirk, and she smiled. “I might try it on something inanimate first. I don’t need you being split into billions of molecules.”

“But it’s so much fun,” he said.

Blinking, Hermione said, “Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re not the Harry I grew up with, and then there are just these little differences…”

“I blame Draco. He’s kind of hard to keep up with, and he rubs off on you after a while. I think his mum said he had always been ‘very precocious’…?” Harry shrugged. “Maybe your Harry is sarcastic, too, but for some other reason.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I guess I'll get back upstairs,” Harry said. “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “For still being my Hermione.”

Hermione stared at the closed door for a moment. Her Harry was definitely _something_ , but she was beginning to think that they were less alike than she originally thought. She willed her eyes not to well up with tears, but she found herself sniffling a bit and wiping the wetness from her face.

***

“Merlin, Potter, I gave Granger those books, haven’t I done my duty to getting you fixed, yet?”

Potter pushed his way into Draco’s house. “Yes, I know. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Why yes, Potter, come right on in,” Draco said, closing the door. “God, didn’t the other me teach you any manners?”

“Actually, no, not really. You’re complete shite at being polite. Unless you’re talking to your mum.”

Draco scowled. “Potter, tell me what you want so you’ll leave.”

“You brought Hermione some books.”

“Yes, we’ve already established that.”

“I wanted to know why.”

“What do you mean, you ‘want to know why’? So you’ll go away and the Potter that hates me comes back.”

“Draco-”

“ _’Malfoy’_ , to you.”

“You keep saying terrible things like that’s going to make me hate you, but it’s not.”

 “You don't know me. I'm not the Draco you know.”

“Fine. I know _me_ , and I know that I would never be friends with Weasley, and yet, here I am. It can't have happened just because we were both in Gryffindor.”

“Sure it can, Potter. Don’t you dislike all those sodding Dumbledore ass-kissers?”

“Dumbledore was a great wizard, and a good man, despite all of his mistakes. He was going to _help_ you, Draco. And no, I don’t hate them all. I’m friends with Hermione, aren’t I? And Ginny was always nice to me-”

“Yeah, because she couldn't get over her hero-worship-”

“Maybe because your _father-_ ”

“MY FATHER-” Draco started, his tone haughty with an edge of anger.

“Both of you, _stop_ ,” Draco’s mum cut in, her voice sharp.

Draco turned to see his mum standing halfway up the staircase, her hand delicately holding the banister, and her light blue robes making her seem even paler, her yellow hair like a halo with the late-day sunlight streaming in from the windows behind her.

“You would think,” she said as she descended the stairs, “that after all you have been through, and two years of relative peace, that both of you would have learned to stop fighting.”

“Mum, I-”

Narcissa held up her hand. “Draco I don’t wish to hear it. Considering what we’ve all done for each other, I think it’s time to work out your differences or perhaps find a way to ignore each other entirely, if you find that to be too arduous a task. I don’t care if you’re friends, but Mr. Potter, please stop coming around to speak to Draco if you can’t keep it civil. And Draco, don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter said quietly.

“Yes, Mum,” Draco replied as she walked away with all the finality on the subject only a mother could provide.

Potter turned to Draco. “What did she mean, ‘considering what we’ve all done for each other’…?”

Draco started walking toward the study. And the gin. “Come _on_ , Potter,” he said when Potter didn’t follow immediately behind.

Draco poured liberally, and gestured to Potter to see if he wanted any. Potter said ‘the scotch was good’ as he sat down in the same chair as the last time they shared a drink together. Draco gave Potter his own tumbler and sat down across from him again, sipping thoughtfully for a moment. The taste of the gin straight startled Draco for a moment, but he decided ‘fuck it’, and kept drinking. Potter looked ready to prompt him when he finally decided on what to say.

“My mother and I both saved your life,” he said. “During the war. Not without our own selfish reasons, mind you.”

“What _were_ your reasons? What happened?”

“When my _love_ ly Aunt Bella and my father thought they had found you, or rather, _him_ , his face was in an even worse state than usual, all puffy and grotesque, and so, they decided to bring me in, and see if I might recognise their prisoner. I told them I didn’t recognise you. But I did. I didn’t want them to know that. I needed you to live. Merlin, I hated you. I still do. But – I needed you. To defeat _him_.”

“You mean, you needed the other Harry. The one you hate.”

“Right.”

“And your mum?”

“She told the Dark Lord the other Potter was dead after he hit him with a Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest.” Draco pressed his lips together in thought, this thumb playing with the ring on his finger. “But he was alive. All she wanted to know from him was if I was okay. She wanted Potter to live...you – he – _had_ to defeat him. Our family surviving was all that mattered.”

Potter sat back. “Though it happened a little differently in my world, you and your mum helped me too, you know.”

Draco stood, turning away and toward the window and the fading light outside. “I don’t want to talk about this. I told you what happened. Let’s just move on, shall we?”

He heard Potter stand. “Maybe you should. If you’ve been locked up for two years, you probably haven’t really dealt with any of it.”

“I haven’t been ‘locked up’. When I told you that, it was an exaggeration. And I have been dealing with it, Potter,” he replied, raising his glass.

He saw Potter’s reflection come closer until he was standing right next to him. “I don’t mean with booze, Draco. You don’t have – you don’t _seem_ to have many friends right now. And I get that you have a brand on your arm that makes you seem like some kind of leper, but I’ll listen. If you want to talk.”

Draco whirled on him. “What do you care, Potter? Why are you even here?”

Potter smiled, raising an eyebrow. “You might want to ask _your_ Harry that question.”

“For Merlin’s sake. Are you always this annoying to your friends? You know what I meant.”

Potter shrugged and brazenly sat along the back of Lucius’ eighteenth century sofa. “’Cause I think you want someone to talk to.”

“I don’t need to talk to anyone.”

“I didn’t say you _needed_ to. I said I think you want to.”

“Even if I wanted to, why would I talk to _you_?”

“Because I’m the only person that knows you could have better. Better than being holed up in your mansion without anything to do but read books and drink yourself to death.”

Draco shared a look with Potter for a moment before saying, “I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not accepted. Once I feel like doing something other than reading books and drinking myself to death, I’ll do it. I don’t need you to babysit me,” he said, finishing his drink. “Besides, Granger will fix you, and you won’t be here much longer anyhow, so why bother?” He stepped away to go refill his glass.

“What if Hermione can’t ‘fix’ me? I might be here forever, Draco. And maybe the other Harry doesn’t give a shit about you, but I do. And I’m not just going to sit idly by when I _know_ that you could be out there, having a life.”

Draco slammed his tumbler down on the cabinet. “Dammit, Potter, just stop it! I don’t want you to be my friend. I don’t care if I could be out there ‘having a life’. It’s not worth the effort to convince people that I’m some ‘good guy’. I’m not. I don’t want or need their approval. If you’re here forever, then so be it. Just leave me out of your life, all right?”

Potter’s expression shut down and his lips formed a thin line. “Fine. I’ll quit bothering you. But I’m not leaving this world until it’s better than when I got here.”

Draco curled his lip in confusion. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Potter walked towards him and set his own glass down next to Draco’s hand, their skin making the barest of contact. Draco looked down at their hands then back over to Potter when he spoke.

“I don’t have to tell you. We’re not friends, right?”

Draco turned to watch Potter stalk out the door, his footsteps padding on the hallway rug, and then echoing sharply off the marbled flooring of the foyer. When the door closed, the sound ricocheted off the walls and ceiling, and the Manor suddenly felt very empty.

Sighing, Draco dropped a few cubes of ice into his glass, and poured himself some more gin. The taste was absolutely bitter, but he didn’t really care about that right now. All that mattered was working his way through this cabinet so he could restock it someday soon. He felt, more than saw, his mother appear in the doorway.

“Before you get on me about fighting with Potter, just let me say that I don’t think he’ll be coming back.”

“I gathered that by the way he just left,” she replied softly. “But I also gathered that something was amiss with him.”

Draco took a drink. “Amiss how?”

“Come now, Draco. I am hardly an idiot. That’s not Harry Potter, is it?”

“It is,” Draco replied. “Just…not the Harry Potter we all know and despise.”

“What does that mean?”

Draco turned and leaned a hip against the cabinet. “Granger is under the impression that he’s from ‘another dimension’.”

Narcissa stepped into the room, her arms crossing in front of her. “I’m sorry? What on earth does that mean?”

“Essentially that Potter has got himself into yet another situation, and according to Granger, traded places with another Potter in some other world. One where he thinks he’s my friend; where he was sorted into Slytherin and hates the Weasleys and a whole bunch of other nonsense .”

“So the Harry Potter that just walked out of here thinks he’s your friend.”

Draco shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Draco, do you not see what kind of opportunity this could be for our family? For _you_? Why are you pushing him away?”

Glaring over his glass he said, “Because I don’t want or need his help, Mother.”

Narcissa dropped her arms to her side. “Then I raised a fool.”

Draco picked up the tumbler Not-Potter left on the cabinet, studying the way the light hit it for a moment. “I guess I’m a fool, then,” he said, and moved past his mother and into the hallway to take the glass to the kitchen to be washed.

***

Ron looked up from one of the books Hermione had sent him, asking for him and Harry to look them over for possible explanations to Harry’s situation when the front door to Grimmauld Place slammed shut.

“Harry?” he called.

Harry appeared in the doorway to the sitting room where Ron was stretched out on the couch. He was scowling, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“God, Draco Malfoy can be such a prick,” Harry said as he came into the room, throwing himself into an armchair.

Ron sat up. “Wait, are you the real Harry? I mean, are you back?”

Harry waived a hand in lazy dismissal and looked into the fire. “No. I’m still me from the other dimension. Draco’s just…”

“A prick?”

“Yeah.”

“I could have told you that,” Ron said without spite.

A faint smile pulled at Harry’s lips. “I know. But I just… He’s my best friend, you know? I know this Draco isn’t _my_ Draco, but he’s still… We haven’t fought in a really long time, and I just… I miss him.”

A strange sort of feeling passed through Ron’s chest; a combination of jealousy and concern and confusion. He was trying to understand the appeal to this Harry of having Malfoy as a friend, but his brain just wasn’t allowing it. Still, the man sitting before him had all the anger sucked out of him, and he sat there looking like someone just kicked his crup. Or, like he’d just got into a fight with his best mate.

“Well, mate, I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t get it – your friendship with Malfoy – but I get what it’s like to fight with your best friend. It’s fucking shite.”

Harry chuckled. “I know it seems ridiculous to you, and quite frankly, you never made my life easy. I mean, the you in my world. But you’ve been nothing but nice to me since I got here. And I appreciate that. This,” he said, gesturing between him and Ron, “is kind of odd for me. But thanks. Yet, I just keep going back to Draco, as if it’s going to change his mind.”

“You’re wondering why you’re torturing yourself trying to deal with that berk?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Ron opened his mouth to say something about Malfoy’s complete unworthiness, but took a deep breath instead, hoping Harry didn’t catch the way Ron swallowed his comment down. He looked up at Harry and saw Harry’s green eyes staring at him critically and knew that he saw anyway. Ron was suddenly reminded of the silver and green of the Slytherin crest and it unnerved him. The Harry he knew was less of the insightful kind, and seeing Harry’s face set with keen and critical eyes threw him off. As if this Harry was always calculating something.  
Taking another breath, Ron said instead, “Well, I’d do the same for you, mate. If I found myself in a world where you hated me, I’d want to see you anyway. Maybe make you like me. I mean, I guess that’s what I did when I found out something had happened.” Ron shrugged. “It doesn’t make the most sense, but I can kind of see why you keep trying to talk to him. What’d he say?”

“Basically ‘I don’t care if you never go back, just stay out of my life’. But…” Harry sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Weasley, you need to understand, Draco has it _good_ in my world. He’s becoming one of the most respected young Aurors the department’s ever seen, and he goes out, has fun, spends time with his friends. He _has_ friends. But this Draco… he’s holed himself up in the Manor with his mother, and basically thinks that’s his lot in life. Like he can’t change it. He can’t change how the world sees him. I think it’s bollocks. He could if he tried. That Mark on his arm isn’t a death sentence. If I was able to clear Snape’s name, I’ll be able to clear his.”

Ron pressed his lips together, not really knowing how to respond. Finally he said, “I don’t believe I’m going to say this, but why don’t you help him?”

“It’s my plan. But I need your help.”

“Whatever you need, Harry.”

“I need you to tell me about your war. Everything you know.”

***

Draco was having his breakfast in the conservatory when his mother joined him, the latest _Daily Prophet_ in hand.

“Interesting headline in today’s issue,” she said, setting the paper on the table between them and fixing herself some tea.

Draco shared a raised eyebrow with his mother and when she only picked up her tea and looked at him expectantly, he set down his knife and fork and picked up the _Daily Prophet_.

 

**HARRY POTTER DECLARES AMNESTY FOR MISSING MALFOY**  
  
 _Calling a press conference in the late hours of the night yesterday, Harry Potter (Saviour of the Wizarding World and the Chosen One to defeat He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named), announced that he would no longer pursue the Death Eater Lucius Malfoy..._

Draco slapped the newspaper down on the table next to his plate. “Sodding... _Slytherin_ ,” he spat. “Why do you look so amused?” he asked his mother.

“Oh, no reason,” Narcissa said, setting down her tea and fixing herself a plate. “You just seem so...upset, dear.”

“Of _course_ I’m upset! What the fuck does he think he’s doing? He’s not the real Harry Potter! He can’t just go around granting amnesty to people! He doesn’t have the authority!”

“Language, Draco. I’m pretty sure he can do whatever he wants. He’s Harry Potter,” she said, cutting up her breakfast into bite-sized pieces. “Even if he’s the Harry Potter from another dimension,” she added, when Draco glared at her.

“This is ridiculous. We don’t _need_ his amnesty,” Draco said. At the pointed look his mother gave him he clarified, “we don’t _want_ his amnesty, then.” His mother continued to stare at him. “What? What do you want from me?”

“Draco, don’t talk to me that way.”

“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling out of their slicked-back state to frame his face. “I just... I don’t get it. So he thinks we can be friends or some other nonsense. That doesn’t mean he should go mucking about in _our_ world, just because _his_ Draco is an _Auror_ and has _friends_ and goes out for _fun_.”

Narcissa put a piece of sausage in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “And you don’t want any of those things? You don’t want your father back?”

“Well, I... Of _course_ I want some of those things. And _of course_ I want Father back. I never really thought about being an _Auror_ , I just... I don’t need his help.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Why, because you think I can’t do it on my own?”

“Of course not. Because there’s no reason not to take help when it’s offered. Even if it’s from a less-than-ideal source.”

“Yeah, but then he’d...expect things.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. He’d want to be... _friends_. Or something.”

“And what’s so wrong with that? You could do worse than Harry Potter. And I seem to remember a rather impressionable little boy with stars in his eyes when I told him stories of The Famous Boy Who Lived.” She put another piece in her mouth, chewing and swallowing. “Besides, he might not be here forever, will he? Best to take advantage now, while there’s an olive branch still being offered.”

“And what happens after? When he goes back to his world? When the other one that hates me comes back? You really think what _this_ Potter wants is going to matter to _him_?”

His mum’s shoulders raised in a slight shrug. “Well, your foot will be in the door, so then it’s in your hands, and you shouldn’t need him anymore.”

“He could take it away, though.”

“Perhaps. But do you really think he would?”

After a moment, Draco shrugged. “I dunno.”

Narcissa dabbed her mouth with her napkin and took up her tea. “You only fail if you never try.”

“My mother, with her years of experience and her words of wisdom, everyone.” Draco gestured to the room at large. The tapestry on the wall rippled in response.

“You’ll see, Draco. Just... Let Potter continue with his scheme. Especially if it’s going to bring your father back. He’s only doing it to get your attention, you know.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Draco stared sullenly at the photo of Not-Potter on the cover of the _Prophet_ , standing in front of a podium and looking far too self-assured for someone who didn’t even exist in this world seventy-two hours ago.

***

He wasn’t going to do it.

Some part of his brain kept yelling about “opportunities” and “getting out of the Manor”, but Draco knew that’s what Potter _wanted_. Was for Draco to seek him out. So, no, he wasn’t going to do it. Not if it meant giving Potter something he wanted.

Sighing, Draco shut the book he was ignoring for his self-argument and stood, stretching out his calves. Maybe all he needed was some fresh air; the wind running hollow past his ears. Something to clear his mind.

He padded upstairs to his room and found the warmest clothing he could find. He’d long since grown out of his old Quidditch uniform from Hogwarts; his legs were a few inches longer, his shoulders just that much broader. He found his old Quidditch gloves and tossed them towards his bed.

He went to the back of his walk-in wardrobe, moving aside more clothes and shoes to unearth his old Nimbus 2001. He took the lacquered wood in his hand and pulled it out from the debris. There was a little bit of dust on the bristles, which he tried to brush away with a few swipes of his hand. Shoving on his shoes, he trotted down to the foyer and turned toward the back of the house, opening the doors that lead out to the grounds behind the Manor.

He jogged a little through the small flower garden in the back to get his blood pumping and to loosen his limbs. He passed the greenhouse and the shed and came out into a clearing on the edge of their property filled with tall grasses, long since tended, and gripped the familiar broom in his hand.

Mounting the broom, he took flight, making a slow, wide circle just to regain his bearings a little. It felt surprisingly natural up there in the sky, and he leaned forward to push the broom faster. Draco pulled up sharply into a pike, sprinting for some invisible Snitch. He let himself fall back toward the earth, pulling up sharply as he got close to the ground, reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers on the grass. He let out a whoop and threw himself into a spiral turn before circling the clearing at the fastest speed he could manage.

Slowing down, he landed and wiped the wind tears from the corners of his eyes. The chill in the air stung his cheeks and his breath came out in a puff of steam. Adrenaline pumping, he mounted his broom again and took off for another round.

What felt like no time at all, but must have been at least an hour, judging by the dip of the sun on the horizon, Draco circled back down to the clearing, landing and dismounting with stiff legs. He forgot what a good, long run on a broom felt like afterward. And he was out of shape.

He walked back to the Manor with a calm mind, quieted by his time up in the air. He wasn’t usually one for all that wishy-washy nonsense about a higher power or finding one’s inner peace, but damn if flying wasn’t one of the greatest experiences in the world.

When he entered the house, his mother was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, a smile on her face.

“Hey, Mum. You seem to be in a pleasant mood. That cat you got catch another mouse?”

She shook her head slightly. “No. It was just nice seeing you up in the air again.”

“I thought you hated it when I fly. 'It’s too dangerous',” he said, leaning his broom against the wall and pulling his gloves off by the fingers.

Narcissa lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant hug. “You’re an adult now. Not much I can do to stop you. Besides, you look happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

Draco grinned, all teeth. “I don’t know about happy, but it felt good to be up in the air again.”

“Then you should continue doing it. In the meantime, I’ve been dealing with the consequences of our dear saviour’s words.”

Draco’s mood took a sudden downturn. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing. Mostly just owls. Letters from people, some asking questions, the rest in howler form. They’re taken care of,” she said with a smirk. “But there have been a few Floo calls and a few guests to the property while you were brooding and subsequently flying.”

“Guests? What kind of guests?”

“Some reporters, looking for more information as to why Mr. Potter might want to grant your father amnesty from the war.”

“Bloody hell. I’m going to kill that arsehole.”

“For what, Draco? Giving us a chance to tell our story? For your father to be home again?”

Draco crossed his arms. “I guess I just don’t get why this is so important to you.”

“Because the Dark Lord stole our livelihood from us. Yes, we may have followed his rhetoric, but the second he started threatening our family for the sake of a childish crusade was the second I saw fit to have him dead.”

“Yes, Mother, I know this. I just...why does it matter if anyone else believes it? And who’s to say they even will? It just seems like a lot of effort for not much reward.”

“Draco,” Narcissa said, stepping forward and placing her hands on his shoulders, “I meant what I said earlier. We can’t possibly know the outcome if we don’t at least try. I could care less for all of those plebeians and their opinions. But, unfortunately, the opinions of the masses can’t be ignored when they’re all saying the same thing: the Malfoys are evil. ‘Evil’ is such a Philistine concept. You and I know it’s not that black and white.”

“Okay, Mum. I'll try.”

Narcissa leaned forward and placed a kiss on Draco's cheek. “Good. Now, what will we have for supper?” She pulled away and started toward the kitchen.

“Anything but shepherd's pie, again,” Draco said, following his mother dutifully.

***

The next morning, Draco ate a hearty breakfast and took to the skies. He spent the earlier part of the day doing stretches, grimacing through the pain left over from the day before, followed by push-ups and practicing the same moves over and over again. He came to lunch starving, his mother throwing amused glances his way as he ate without much decorum.

After lunch, he washed the dishes when his mother asked, then took a shower and stretched out in the study with the book he had been trying to read yesterday. He spent a half hour or so reading, but once he realized his eyes were scanning the same sentence over and over again, he set the book down and laid back, trying to figure out his next move. It shouldn’t be so difficult, but he had felt so out of control of the situation since Not-Potter arrived on his doorstep, that any modicum of footing he could grasp, he wanted to take.

Later that afternoon, he helped his mother with the laundry, then assisted her with dinner. They’d been pretty much on their own since his father left, and his mother had actually gone out and bought a few cookbooks, which they had been teaching themselves from. Not that his mother had never cooked, but her arsenal had mostly consisted of baked goods and simple things like eggs and mash. They had plenty of gold, thankfully, even without any income, but without the use of any kind of help, they had to make due.

After supper, his mother went off to start planning her next charity soiree, Draco sat in his father’s study, staring at the flames in the fireplace and nursing a snifter of cognac. He had decided earlier that he needed to confront Potter. That was the only way to get across to him that Draco didn’t want to be part of any of his schemes. After a few minutes of deliberation, Draco knocked back the last of his drink and stood, leaving his glass for later, feeling his blood pumping as he readied himself for a fight. He left the study to don his coat, pull on his boots and a pair of gloves and Apparate to Twelve Grimmauld Place. Or, what he thought was Twelve Grimmauld Place. He couldn’t actually see it.

“Potter!” he yelled. He had planned on doing this with a bit more dignity, but he didn’t have much choice. Storming the Ministry again was probably not the best idea.

“Potter! Open up! It’s getting cold!”

A man in Number Eleven opened a window and said, “Sod off!”

Draco turned and yelled back, “Oh, shut it! It’s not that late!”

There was a wobble in the air and Weasley appeared, holding a piece of paper. Handing it to Malfoy he said, “Read this out loud then get inside the damn house.”

“It’s about bloody time,” Draco said, taking the paper. “The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix are located at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London.” Just as Draco finished speaking, an old, battered door materialised from where Weasley had appeared and Number Twelve pushed itself into the space between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen. Blinking only once, Draco recovered and hopped quickly up the stairs. “Potter’s here, right?” he asked as he pushed his way inside.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Weasley said, closing the door while Draco took in the foyer.

“Please tell me this isn’t Potter’s idea of decor,” he said, curing his lip at the troll-leg umbrella stand.

“No, he just hasn’t had a chance to change anything. This is all stuff left over from the Blacks.”

“Trust me,” Not-Potter said from the top of the stairs, “in my world, you made sure all of this was gone.”

“Maybe I’ll repeat the favour,” Draco muttered, looking around.

“At least the house-elf heads are gone,” Weasley said as he walked up the stairs past Potter. “I’ll leave you to it, mate.”

Not-Potter gave him a nod and continued down the stairs. “Hi, Draco.”

“Don’t try and butter me up, Potter. I’m pissed off.”

“Really? Because it’s been nearly two days. If you were pissed off, what took you so long?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You have my mother to thank for the fact that you’re still breathing.”

Not-Potter only smiled. “I always liked your mum.”

“What. Do you want. From me?” Draco bit out.

Not-Potter shook his head. “Nothing, Draco.”

“Nothing. Not even a thank you? No public displays of adoration?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Because you’re not getting any.”

“I gathered that. I just don’t understand why you’re making a big deal about this. I’m trying to get your father to come home. Don’t you want that?”

“Yeah. Sure. Bring him home. We’ll be one big, happy, family again.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that prospect.”

“My father left me and my mother to fend for ourselves, Potter. And we haven’t heard a damned word from him since. He could be dead for all I know.”

“You practically idolise your father,” Not-Potter said.

“And I’m not allowed to be pissed off at him?”

“Of course you are, I just thought-”

“What? That I’d prostrate myself at your feet in thanks for allowing my father to come home? He could have come home any time he wanted. He chose not to.”

Not-Potter stepped forward, and Draco stepped back in response. “Draco, you might not believe this, but I _know_ Lucius. In my world, I _know_ him. And he would do _anything_ to protect you and your mother. Maybe leaving you on your own wasn’t his best course of action, but trust me when I say, that he did it so that _you_ could have a chance. Sure, you have the mark, but your father was the known Death Eater. He wanted you to have the best chance at a normal life. So he left.”

“I don’t need his help. _Or_ yours.”

“I don’t think your father intended you to be sitting around drinking all of his scotch and being mad at everyone all the time.”

“I don’t think my father intended anything other than saving his own arse.”

“Draco, if you really believe that, then I don’t know what else to say. You should know your father better than that.”

“Yeah, I should. But it’s not like I’ve spent a lot of time around him in the past nine years. I’ve been, you know, away at boarding school, and he’s been in Azkaban, or in hiding. Kind of hard to get to know daddy when he’s on the lam, Potter.”

Not-Potter sighed, and turned so he was leaning an arm on the banister. “If you don’t want my help, fine. But I wasn’t the one that put this in motion, Draco. Some day you’re going to have to accept that Harry Potter gives a shit.”

“What do you mean you didn’t put this in motion?”

“The other Harry did. _Your_ Harry. He’s been trying to set up something to get your father pardoned for years now. But without your father in custody, it’s kind of hard. The Wizengamot can’t hear your father’s side of the story. He can’t be questioned under Veritaserum. They’re not just going to grant amnesty to someone who’s gone into hiding. For all they know, your father’s choice to flee is as good as pleading guilty. No one’s going to listen to what I – or Harry – has to say when your father’s all but written his ticket to Azkaban.”

“If Potter’s already been working on this, why the declaration?”

“Because your father wasn’t coming back on his own. That much is obvious. And like I said, I _know_ Lucius. I gather your Harry doesn’t, so he wasn’t ready to take that step. And, as Weasley told me, he and Hermione kind of talked him out of it. Your father still has some crimes to pay for. His hands aren’t entirely clean in all this.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t even know how to respond to this.”

Not-Potter shrugged and swung around to climb the stairs. “I guess you don’t have to respond at all. This is all dependant on your father showing his face. Maybe you should save your ‘thank you’ for when I actually get him pardoned.”

Draco gaped at his retreating back. “Potter! Wait!”

Not-Potter turned on a step, looking self assured and not at all like the Potter Draco was used to. Draco stuttered for a moment, trying to figure out what it was that he wanted to say. _Fantastic_.

“Potter... You say you know my father. Do you think... Is he likely to come back?” Draco asked. Inwardly, he cringed at how pathetic his voice sounded.

Not-Potter’s lips set in a grim line. “I really hope so, Draco. Assuming he’s still alive, yes, I think he will.”

Draco nodded. “I’ll just...show myself out.”

“Goodnight,” Not-Potter called to his back.

“Yeah,” Draco replied under his breath, annoyed and resigned and so very, very tired.

***

Hermione muttered quietly under her breath. “There has to be a reactive component I'm missing, here... Inter-dimensional travelling doesn't _just happen_ , Hermione. Now, what on earth did Harry do?”

“I don't think I ever noticed that you talked to yourself when working on something before,” Harry said from behind her.

Sighing, Hermione turned around on her stool “Hi, Harry.”

“I guess I need to work on my sneaking skills.”

“There was a subtle change in the air pressure when you opened the door. I was waiting to see when you’d make yourself known.”

Harry smiled, a little smirk at the corner of his mouth. “How are things going? It's been a few days, and I feel kind of useless just sitting up there, filing paperwork and trying to pretend like I know Freeman better than I do.”

Turning back to her notes, she said, “I'm making some progress. I've finished cataloguing all of the artefacts on the table, but I'm still having trouble identifying the catalyst. _What_ Harry was touching when it happened, and _what_ he did to make it happen. It happened very quickly, so I can't imagine it could have been complex.”

“Maybe I could help. I mean, I _am_ for the most part, Harry. I'm sure whatever he was doing, I might do.” At Hermione's far-away 'thinking' look, he said, “It's worth a try anyway.”

Hermione nodded. “You're right. Okay. Let's see. We need to recreate the event. I was sitting here,” she said, setting up the stool at her workbench. Turning to Harry, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him around until he was standing about where her Harry was when he disappeared. “Harry was about...here, and he knocked into the table by accident.” Pointing her wand at the table, she moved all the objects back to where they had been at the time of the incident. She then sat where she had been sitting, and swivelled around so she was facing away. “Okay, so when Harry bumped into the table, the red croquet ball tumbled down, and knocked into the teapot, which tipped over the side of the table. Harry caught it, and set it back down. And then...he disappeared.”

“Do you know which Floo powder he touched that you were working on?”

“Yes. I put it away for safe-keeping.”

“Have you tried looking at your memory of the accident? We try and do that sometimes with witnesses, or even when we're just trying to remember something about a particular case when we're filing our reports.”

Hermione's head snapped up. “Harry! You're a genius! Why didn't I think of that?” She leapt up from the stool and leaned up to kiss Harry on the cheek. “I'll be back. My Pensieve is at my flat.” She left Harry standing there, a bemused smile on his face.

***

Draco peered down at the figure approaching the field. He pulled his broom into a sharp dive, hoping to catch Potter a little off-guard. Maybe he didn’t play Quidditch back in his world?

Just before Draco’s trajectory would have caused a collision, he spiralled into a turn, whipping around Potter and dismounting beside him. Potter looked completely unfazed. Drat.

“Why are you here, Potter? Is there news about my father?”

Potter shook his head and Draco cursed himself inwardly for still being hopeful. “Not yet, I’m sorry. I came here to tell you we’re one step closer to sending me home, so you can get your Harry back.”

“He’s not _my_ Harry,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I thought you might appreciate knowing you’d get a Harry that wouldn’t bother you anymore.”

Draco scoffed and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “Are you taking the piss? He bothered me just as much as you do. Always coming around, asking about Father, just ‘checking in’...you’re both obnoxious.”

Potter chuckled. “Trust me, you can be pretty obnoxious, sometimes. The other Draco, too.”

Draco looked out across the field. “Do you play?” he asked, shaking his broom in Potter’s direction.

Nodding, Potter said, “Yeah. Played Seeker for Slytherin.”

Draco shot him a look. “That’s what I played.” Turning to Potter a little, he asked, “Was the other Draco on the team?”

“Yeah. I got picked for Seeker by pure luck – Draco and I were messing around during our first flying lesson. There was some downtime, because Neville Longbottom broke his wrist. At first we were just playing a bit of tag, and Hermione was telling us to knock it off, when Draco found Longbottom’s remembrall. I told him to stop playing with it, but he was kind of being a dick about it, and when he threw it, I caught it, and someone saw and told Flint. So, I was Seeker. That was the first time I wondered about being friends with Draco.” Potter caught Draco’s eye and continued, “Draco tried out in second year, and made Chaser.”

Draco stayed quiet for a moment. That story was uncannily like had happened to him. Except he and Potter had been friends. Or mostly friends, if Potter had had doubts about him. Were they always at odds? Why the hell were they even friends at all? They were too different. They had almost nothing in common. _Almost_ nothing.

“Well, Seeker to Seeker, you up for a game?” Draco finally asked.

Potter smiled. It was kind of...nice? Draco had never really noticed it before, probably because it had never been directed at him, but it was genuine, and Draco hadn’t seen that very often in his life.

“I don’t have a broom on me,” Potter said.

Draco shrugged. “Well, if you’re too scared I might beat you...”

Potter straightened. “I never said that.” Taking out his wand he said, “I’ll be right back.” He Apparated and about two minutes later he appeared in some clothing better suited to fly in and holding his Firebolt. He opened his other fist and a Snitch lay inside his palm.

Draco grinned. Mounting his broom he said, “Whenever you’re ready, Potter.”

Potter pressed the activation button and threw the Snitch in the air. Within a second, he had mounted his broom and was in pursuit.

Glaring, Draco took off immediately after him, his heart racing with the thrill of competition.

They sped around the field, circled around trees, and used every trick in the book to throw each other off guard. Draco jeered and egged Potter on, and Potter jeered and egged him back, and Draco felt a smile tugging at his mouth – this was so much better than playing some school-regulated match – there was only him and Potter and Potter didn’t carry that scowl that was reserved just for Draco – the one that nearly bore lines into his face before they’d ever even left school. He was smiling, and Draco was smiling, and they had a few near-collisions that left Draco’s body shaking with adrenaline and them both laughing before taking off again.

“Watch out, Potter! Wouldn’t want to mess up that ugly mug of yours!” Draco jibed.

“If it’s so ugly, why do you care?” Potter shot back, grinning.

Draco lost sight of the Snitch for just a second and slowed down, pulling out of the trees and rising up over the field.

“What, you ready to give up?” Potter sneered as he joined Draco.

“You wish, four-eyes. No, I just lost sight of the Snitch is all.”

“Aww, maybe you need glasses, old man.”

“Fuck you, Potter.”

“Well, if you insist,” Potter said lewdly.

Draco blinked slowly and looked over at Potter. His cheeks were whipped pink with the wind, but there was a tell-tale blush creeping down his neck and while he was doing a fairly good job of sneering derisively, Draco had perfected that look over the years, and this Potter, however good of friends he was with the other Draco, still hadn’t quite figured out how not to show his hand. This subtle admission grew a pit in Draco’s stomach; a weird mixture of horror, confusion and curiosity. The thought of Potter and he... _doing_ something together like that...it was just...too much for Draco to process.

“Excuse me?” Draco said in response, the exhilaration he’d been feeling dissipating under the idea floating around in his head. “Just what kind of relationship do you have with the other me, Potter?” Draco asked, point-blank.

Potter licked his lips a little, and Draco stared. Shrugging, Potter said, “We’re just friends.”

“Right.”

“Well, we are.”

Draco held up a hand. “Hey, whatever you say. But you being a poofter has got me questioning, is all.”

“Questioning what, exactly?” Potter said snippily. “Your own sexuality?”

“What? No,” Draco replied, affronted, and feeling a little raw. “I just meant...what made you that way. Like, what exactly you and the other me got up to, if that’s how you are, and, you know, that’s fine or whatever, but the Potter here is straight. And you did mention that the other Draco would climb into your bed.”

“Yeah, after I had nightmares,” Potter said. Sighing, he continued, “Look, I don’t know why I’m gay and your Harry is straight. It doesn’t really have anything to do with Draco. I just...like blokes. That’s all there is to it.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.

Draco opened his mouth to keep prying, because he knew there was more to it, and damn if he didn’t love a good bit of gossip, but then the Snitch flitted in between them, and they blinked at each other before taking off after it.

They barrel rolled around each other then flew straight up, both of their arms outstretched toward the Snitch. It suddenly changed directions again and Draco rammed into Potter, hard, and Potter almost tumbled off his broom. Draco grabbed his jumper roughly and pulled him back up, letting go almost immediately to take off after the Snitch.

“You bastard!” he heard Potter call to his back.

Draco laughed, and was closing in on the Snitch when Potter zoomed straight past him and grabbed a hold of the little golden ball, ending the friendly match and devastating Draco.

“Potter, you arsehole! That Snitch was mine!”

“You snooze you lose, Draco,” Potter jibed, holding up the Snitch and grinning. Pushing the button to deactivate it, he said, “Or, in your case, using an ancient broom.”

“Oh, fuck you, Potter,” Draco said, pushing his broom down into a dive so he could dismount.

“Wow, you’re even a sore loser in this world, aren’t you?” Potter asked as he dismounted beside him.

Draco was determined to not collapse in exhaustion with Potter standing _right there_ , but his knees gave out anyway, and he fell back – gracefully, of course – onto the dewy grass. “Yeah, well, I could never beat you. Tends to be a bit of a sore spot.”

Chuckling, Potter sat down next to him. “ _I_ think you let your hatred of him blind you to the job.”

Draco turned his head to glare up at Potter’s profile. “I’m a bloody fantastic Seeker, Potter. Which you would _know_ if you had been in Gryffindor and not stolen the limelight from me in Slytherin.”

“Yeah, well _my_ Draco doesn’t know any better, he just hates losing at anything, and I’m better than he is at Seeking.”

“Pfft.” Draco let his head drop back to the grass. Ugh, he was getting all wet. This time of year sucked. Wet, windy, cold...didn’t matter. Draco always felt chilled down to his core.

“I think I’m just out of shape,” Draco admitted.

“Yeah, probably that, too.”

Draco reached out and punched Potter in the arm. “You’re not supposed to _agree_ with me.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“Say, ‘Oh, no, Draco, you’re so fit it’s a wonder the Snitch doesn’t just come to you out of sheer admiration. It clearly just doesn’t understand.’ You know, something like that. Stop laughing, Potter, I’m serious.”

Quieting his snickers – a task which seemed to be rather unreasonably arduous – Potter stood and held out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go inside and find something warm to drink.”

Draco took the offered hand without a thought and let Potter help pull him off the ground. They picked up their brooms and made their way back into the Manor.

Once inside, Draco showed Potter where to prop up his broom and then led him back to the kitchen. He pulled a few bottles of butterbeer out of a cupboard and poured them into glass steins before casting a warming charm on them.

Sliding one over to Potter he said, “Cheers,” and took a deep swig.

He watched Potter take a few gulps, his throat working with each swallow before Potter set the stein down and licked his lips free of delicious foam. “Oh, I needed that,” Potter said.

Draco set his own stein down, nodding. “Yeah, me too.”

“You have something,” Potter said, gesturing to his own lips.

“What?” Draco’s tongue stuck out and licked the top of his upper lip. “Gone?” he asked Potter.

Potter nodded, but was staring at Draco’s mouth.

“Potter?”

“What? Yeah, sorry. You just...remind me of my Draco so much sometimes.”

“That’s funny, because you don’t remind me of Potter at all.”

Potter shrugged. “Well, maybe being sorted into Slytherin had a profound effect on me.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was my esteemed tutelage.”

Potter chuckled. “You mean the other Draco’s?”

“Yes. Of course.” Draco took a drink and then hopped up on the counter, crossing his legs at the ankle. “To be honest with you, I always wondered what it would have been like. To have Potter as a friend, I mean.”

“Why?”

Draco shrugged. “Probably out of jealousy. I offered my friendship, and he turned it down to be with Weaselbee and Granger.”

“Weasley insulted you one of the first times I’d met him. That’s why I didn’t want to be friends with him. He insulted someone I was already getting close to. It kind of makes you not want to be friends with someone, you know?”

Draco nodded. He got it. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about the real reason why he and Potter weren’t friends. He had been a little shithead, plain and simple. And subsequently let that drive his hatred for Potter and Weasley and every other goody-goody Gryffindor that crossed his path.

Yeah, he was an arse. At least he was willing to admit it.

He said as much out loud and Potter tipped back his head and laughed, exposing that throat again.

Okay, what was wrong with him? Draco thought. He shouldn’t be thinking about Potter’s throat, or his laugh, or his smile, or the way he had stared at Draco’s mouth and made lewd comments about sleeping with him and...

Yeah, he just needed to stop thinking about all of that.

Besides, thinking about that didn’t make Draco _want_ any of those things. That would just be absolutely ridiculous.

“Well, er, Potter, it was nice playing a match with you,” he said, sliding off the counter. “But I should probably start getting ready to make dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. What are you making?” Potter asked, finishing off his butterbeer and making for the door.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Mother told me she wanted game hens with roasted potatoes tonight.”

Potter paused at the door and peered over his shoulder at Draco, who was ushering him out. “Do you even know what to do with a game hen?” he asked dubiously.

Tilting his chin up haughtily, Draco said, “I’ve learned my way around a kitchen, Potter. It’s kind of a necessity if my mother and I don’t want to starve.”

Potter shrugged. “No offense. I just know my Draco can’t cook his way out of a paper bag.”

“Oh, and I suppose you can?”

“Yeah, actually. I don’t know about your Harry, but I spent my life before Hogwarts catering to my Aunt and Uncle’s every whim and trying not to muck it up too bad. That included food. So I had to learn pretty quickly, unless I wanted to get locked up under the stairs without supper.”

Draco blinked. “I’m sorry? Lock you up where?”

“In the cupboard under the stairs. It was my bedroom until I was twelve.”

Draco knew he must look ridiculous, but he couldn’t quite get his mouth to stay closed. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t...um...I don’t have words capable of articulating my thoughts at the moment,” he eventually managed.

Potter turned full to Draco and put a hand on his shoulder. “Draco, it’s okay. I’ve accepted it as a part of my life. They were horrible people, but they were scared, because what if whoever killed my parents came after them? And he almost did. So, really, don’t feel sorry for me or anything. I’m okay.”

“I’m not...I wasn’t...I just...”

“You just thought I’d grown up with a silver spoon in my mouth, like you?”

Draco nodded absently. “Wait – why didn’t you just, I don’t know, challenge them to a duel for room rights or something?”

A smile graced Potter’s lips for the briefest of seconds before it was suppressed. “Draco, they’re Muggles. I couldn’t challenge them to anything. I didn’t know I was a wizard until I was eleven, remember? Plus, underage wizards aren’t allowed to practice magic.”

Draco blinked. “Right. That’s right. Okay. But what about Dumbledore? Why didn’t he do something?”

Potter shrugged. “It’s complicated. Honestly, it’s not a big deal anymore. I still see my cousin every once and a while, and that’s that. With everything I’ve been through, it seems silly to hate them for being bigoted, ignorant, scared arseholes.”

Draco scowled, feeling upset and not knowing exactly why or what to do about it. He crossed his arms. “You’re more forgiving than I am.”

Potter really smiled this time. “That’s...probably true, but trust me, Dumbledore gave them a piece of his mind. Really, don’t worry about it. Let’s just say, it was necessary.”

“Muggles are too stupid for their own good. They still ought to be put in their place.”

“You were always rather protective of me.”

Draco opened his mouth, but not much sound came out. “What? I am not – I don’t care –“

“It’s okay, Draco.” Taking his hand away from Draco’s shoulder, he rolled up his sleeves and stepped farther into the kitchen. “How about I stay and help with dinner?”

Draco looked at his shoulder, growing cold without Potter’s touch. Turning, he said, “Potter, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Potter said, opening the icebox and pulling out a few hens that had been preserved with a charm. Draco watched as Potter took off the charm, washed them, and started to season them.

The door opened behind Draco and Narcissa walked in. “Draco, have you started on...oh. Hello, Auror Potter. Is there any particular reason why you’re molesting my hens?”

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Malfoy. Draco said he needed some help with dinner, so I-”

“I did _not_ ,” Draco said, stepping forward. “Pass me a knife and a cutting board, Potter.”

Potter smiled at Draco’s mum. “Dinner will be ready in a few hours, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. I’ll...just check in later,” she said before floating back out of the kitchen.

“I hate you, Potter.” The knife cutting through potatoes made a loud _thunk_ against the cutting board.

“I hate you, too, Malfoy. Also, you should wash those first.”

Draco tried to ignore the genuine smile aimed at his back and went over to the sink with his potatoes.

***

Dinner was survived with polite conversation and yet made more awkward, since Draco’s mother was actually _warming up_ to this Potter. They traded witty banter, and his mother was _smiling_ and _being nice_ , which were things she never was around Potter. The regular Potter, anyhow. Even though he’d paid his life-debt and kept Draco out of Azkaban, Narcissa had always regarded Potter as the thing that she had to deal with in order to protect her son, and hopefully find her husband.

This Potter, this _Slytherin_ Potter, was different, which was perhaps why he got on so well with her. He was...kind of an arse, actually, Draco had decided, but in that way that made him all the more charming. He smiled, and was polite when it called for it, made jokes when the time was just right, and hell if Draco couldn’t call this Potter _enjoyable_. It was curious to him, how he could find little fault in this Potter’s personality, but almost dreaded the other Potter’s return... Back to frowns and asinine questions and that frustrating line of disapproval in between Potter’s brows. It confused and amazed Draco that one little change in the course of events could result in such a different person.

It rained, and Harry Potter was his best friend.

Or, rather, another Draco’s best friend.

Potter wouldn’t hear of Narcissa cleaning up after dinner, and so Draco found himself elbow-deep in dirty dishwater, Potter next to him rinsing and drying with a little flick of his wrist.

“I know there must be a spell for this,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose at the roasting pan and all its caked-on glory. He usually tried to avoid dishes for this very reason.

“There is,” Potter said. “But I don’t know it.”

“Drat. Maybe Mum does.”

“Maybe.”

There was a moment of silence before Potter said, “What? Did you want me to go get her?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to.”

As Potter walked away, he said, “You’re not going to look weak in front of your mum, you know. She loves you no matter what.”

“Just go get her, Potter,” Draco called as the kitchen door swung shut.

A few minutes later, Narcissa was showing them a basic cleaning spell for heavily-soiled dishes, and then they were alone again, the dishes nearly clean and Draco’s fingers all pruney and a strange, mottled colour due to being in hot, soapy water for far too long.

“What do you say to a nightcap after this, Potter?” Draco asked casually. At least, he hoped it sounded as casual as it did in his head.

“Sure,” Potter said, flicking his wand to rinse and dry the last dish before setting it in the cupboard.

Draco finished draining and cleaning the sink and then washed and dried his hands, frowning in displeasure at their deteriorated state. His cuticles were a mess; he hadn’t really taken all that great of care of himself in the past few years.

“Nobody cares about your hands, Malfoy,” Potter said playfully.

Draco’s head snapped up. “Well, only the _uncultured_ don’t care, Potter.”

Potter took one of Draco’s hands in his and examined his nails. “I think they’re fine. They look like hands. The hands of someone who likes to fly, and help his mother with dinner and the chores and doesn’t give a shit what people think of him.”

Draco pulled his hand out of Potter’s grasp and wiped his damp palm on his jumper. “I _don’t_ give a shit.”

Potter smiled. “Exactly. Now, how about that nightcap?”

“Right,” Draco said, and threw the dishtowel on the counter before leading Potter out of the kitchen, across the Manor and into his father’s study.

As Draco poured them both some scotch – he seemed to remember that was what Potter liked – his guest lit a fire in the fireplace and sat cross-legged in front of it.

“What are you, ten?” Draco asked as he brought Potter his drink.

“Come on, sit down with me. Nobody’s watching. It’s okay to sit on the floor, Draco.”

Sighing like he was being put out, Draco handed Potter his drink and sat down beside him, their knees pressing lightly against one another. The fire was already merrily crackling and it was hot against Draco’s face, the heat making his skin feel tight over his bones.

He looked over at Potter, who was just bringing his drink back down away from his lips; the fire shone on the wetness there, and glared off of his specs, throwing reflections on the mantle.

“Thanks for letting me stay. For dinner,” Potter said without looking at Draco.

Looking away from his stare, Draco said, “You kind of insisted, remember?”

Shrugging, Potter replied, “Yeah, but you never had to invite me for a match in the first place. You could have just told me ‘thanks for the information, now bugger off’.”

“I almost did.”

Potter smiled. “Good to know we’re making progress.”

“What exactly are you trying to get out of me, Potter?”

Potter shrugged again. Was it some kind of twitch? He shrugged an awful lot. “I guess I just want you to realize that I’m not so bad.”

“Yes, but as I have to keep reminding you, I can’t stand your other self. So what’s the point? You’re going to leave, and Potter’s going to come back, which I’m sure will thrill the Weasel and his mate, but I have nothing to gain from that.”

“You’re a little hard on him, don’t you think? I mean, he’s not even here to defend himself.”

“Okay, so pretend you’re Potter.”

“I am.”

“You _know_ what I mean. Pretend we hate each other, that your best friend is a ginger, you like banging the Weaselette, you were sorted into Gryffindor, you had a messiah complex, saved the world, etcetera... What’s he going to do when he comes back? _If_ he comes back.”

Potter absently rubbed his forehead – no, his scar – as he talked. “I don’t know. If we assume that he’s in my world, since I’m in his, like we just traded places, that means...” He smiled ruefully. “Well, that means you’re talking a mile a minute, grabbing him all the time, and-“

“Am I – I mean, is he – normally grabby?” Draco cut in, thinking he never understood grabby people, but the warmth against his knee felt really nice.

Potter smiled a little. “Only with me. I think he likes to make sure I’m still alive.”

“He must be out of his mind by now, then.”

Potter swallowed and looked down into his drink. “Yeah, he probably is. It’s hard to remember that, because, you know, _you_.”

Draco tried to ignore that his heart sped up a little. He wasn’t jealous of this other Draco. “You were saying?” Draco prodded.

Potter took a sip of his scotch, and licked his lips again. “It’s all kind of ridiculous once you realize that you and Weasley hating each other is one of the main reasons for me hating Weasley and the other Harry hating you.”

“I suppose,” Draco said. He took a drink and looked into the fire.

He saw Potter turn to him out of the corner of his eye. “Personally, I don’t think Harry hates you at all. I’m sure he did, but maybe he’s over it. I don’t really know what you did to him or what he’s done to you, though Weasley’s giving me a pretty good idea. But I think the real reason he keeps coming around and had been trying to get your father pardoned is because he likes you.”

Draco almost spit up his drink. Turning to Potter he said, “What?”

 “I don’t necessarily mean like that. Just that...he doesn’t hate you anymore.”

Draco stared at him for a moment. “No...I don’t think so,” he said dismissively.

Potter did that damnable shrugging thing again. “Whatever you want to believe.”

“What I want to believe, is that scotch will fix all the world’s ails,” Draco said, standing to get himself another.

“Hey, can you get me some, too?” Potter asked, holding up his glass.

“Sure.”

When Draco sat back down, his knee was pressing firmly against Potter’s thigh, which was now stretched out toward the fire.

“I do have to admit,” Draco said after they sat there for a moment in silence, “that I’ve rather enjoyed this little thing we have going on today.” He gestured between them, feeling the scotch burn his throat and something other than the fire warm his cheeks.

“Oh, Draco, is that your way of saying you _like_ me?” Potter batted his eyes coquettishly.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Draco said, taking a drink.

“I know I’ve said this, but sometimes I forget that you’re not my Draco.”

“How so?”

“You and him both tend to be snarky bastards, to start.”

“And you like that sort of thing.”

Potter nodded, taking a drink. “I do.”

Potter always licked his lips after taking a drink, like whatever he’d just imbibed might come spilling out if he didn’t create some kind of barrier with his tongue.

“What else do you like?”

Carefully, Potter set his glass on the floor. “A whole lot of things,” he said, and leaned in.

The kiss came out of nowhere, and in the microsecond after their lips touched, all Draco could comprehend was that Potter was kissing him. _Potter was kissing him._

_What do I do? What do I do?_

Potter’s lips were still wet from their contact with that tongue, and his mouth was bitter with scotch, but a tingly thrill started with their lips meeting and raced up to Draco’s scalp and all the way down to his toes. Being careful to set his drink to the side, Draco reached up and grabbed onto Potter’s collar, pulling him a little closer and a little more off balance. Potter’s arm shot out to brace himself across Draco’s lap before touching the small of Draco’s back, a pressure that started in that one spot, but the warmth of it spread across Draco’s whole back in a slow tingle that made him shiver.

They kissed for a moment more, a little rough and a little sloppy – this angle did nothing for their technique, Draco decided, but then decided he didn’t really give a rat’s arse, he was _being kissed_ – and then Potter pulled away rather abruptly, his glasses slightly askew.

He covered his mouth with his hand and his eyes were wide behind his specs. “I – I’m sorry. I didn’t – I should go,” he said, standing, upsetting his tumbler on the floor behind him. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologised, using a quick flick of his hand to clean up his spill.

“Potter, wait – what’s wrong?” Draco stood himself, his stomach feeling all wobbly with butterflies and rocks and he thought his heart might be beating hard enough to shake his body. He felt like he was shaking. Was he shaking?

“I shouldn’t have. You’re not... It’s just... You remind me so much of him, and I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry. I need to go. I’ll see you later.”

Draco blinked, and watched Potter rush out of the room. Numbly, he turned to watch the fire instead; it was still burning. It should be warm in here. Draco could still feel the alcohol in his veins. It _had_ been warm. He could still feel Harry’s lips on his. Why was he now so cold?

***

Draco threw open the door to Granger’s laboratory, striding in with purpose. He was lucky his reflexes were getting better with flying practise – he almost didn’t have enough time to dodge the hex thrown his way by a very startled Granger, whose shriek almost matched the state of her hair.

“Gods, Granger, put the wand away. I just came to talk.”

“Malfoy. Jesus. You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you know it’s not polite to barge into someone’s place of work? You have no idea what I could be working on. There are worse things than a reflexive hex thrown your way.” She put a hand to her chest, as if to stop her heart from beating.

“Then maybe think about locking the door, if you and Weaselbee are engaging in an afternoon delight,” Draco said, wincing as the images matching his words bombarded his delicate brain cells.

“What do you want? Who keeps letting you in here?” Granger lowered her wand, and Draco shut the door behind him before stepping forward.

Draco shrugged. “People seem to like giving me what I want. Afraid I might hex them, I hope. I was told you were making progress on our little...problem.”

“Yes. Well, sort of. What’s it to you?”

Draco leaned in, peering curiously at her workstation. He had no idea what she was working on, but he hoped he never found himself under her magnifying glass, judging by the way the Wireless receiver on her table was gutted and the pieces arranged in neat little rows.

“I just have...an interest, is all, in the whereabouts of our own, dear, Potter.”

“Why?”

“Just have some questions for him.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Granger, what part of me being intentionally vague means ‘ask me more questions, please’?”

“I just want to know why you need to talk to my best friend. You’ve always had this mission to either make his life miserable, or try to kill him, so I want to know what’s going on.”

“A bloke can’t just talk to another bloke without it being a nefarious gesture?”

“Not when it’s you and Harry.”

Draco sighed. After a moment he turned away casually. “Tell me, is he still dating the girl-Weasley?”

“Er...no... Why?”

Draco ‘hmm’d’, looking around her workspace. “Why’d they break up?”

Granger eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t know. Harry won’t tell me.”

“Has he ever...mentioned liking anyone else?”

Granger stayed quiet, crossing her arms over her chest and appeared to be studying Draco.

“What?” he asked, unnerved by her staring.

“Did something happen with Harry? I mean, the Slytherin one?”

“No.” _Granger, you’re too smart. Dammit._

She uncrossed her arms and swivelled around so her back was to him. “No, he’s never mentioned liking anyone. Sorry.”

 _Don’t show your hand, don’t show your hand..._ “Oh. Right then.” Draco made to walk out of the lab, feeling distinctly like this whole conversation did not go As Planned.

“Malfoy?”

Draco turned. “Yeah?”

“If you want to come by later, I’m going to be doing some more work on the inter-dimensional travelling problem we seem to be having. I can always use another brain to bounce ideas off of.”

“Er... I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

Granger nodded and turned back to her work. A dismissal. Draco left the lab and the Ministry, deciding flying was the only thing that was going to clear his head today.

***

When Draco decided to ‘stop by’ Granger’s lab that afternoon, it certainly wasn’t because he thought Potter might be there.

He _politely_ knocked on Granger’s door and waited for her answer; when he got it and strode in, he wasn’t at all disappointed that Potter wasn’t in sight.

Nope. Not disappointed at all.

“Hi, Malfoy. I wasn’t sure if you’d be coming.”

Draco shrugged. “I’m bored. I figured discussing inter-dimensional travelling theory with _debatably_ the second best mind in our class might be of some interest.”

Granger cocked an eyebrow. “Right. Okay, well, I brought my Pensieve from home. Why don’t you take a look at my memory of the incident and tell me what you think.”

Shooting Granger a dubious look, Draco dipped his head in the silvery liquid of her Pensieve, and immediately felt himself tumbling down into her memory.

He watched mostly with disinterest, until Granger starting asking about the girl-Weasley, and Draco studied Potter’s body language and facial expressions with particular interest. Potter didn’t betray much, but his avoidance of the subject was of a certain kind of significance to Draco. Draco continued studying the scene, trying to see anything of import to their problem. He didn’t quite admit to himself that he was mostly staring at Potter. He had to be different, didn’t he? To the one currently residing in his place? Nothing physical, Draco noted. But he seemed shier, less brazen, or perhaps more careful about rocking the boat, so to speak. Why Potter felt the need to be so reserved, Draco had no idea. He never held back in school, so why start now? Maybe it was just the way he was with Granger. She always did seem to wear the pants in their particular triangular relationship. Draco grimaced at the memory of Granger punching him in third year. Best to not dwell on such things.

When the memory ended, Draco pulled himself straight and said, “So, you and Weasley having a spot of trouble, are you?”

Granger made a frustrated noise and rolled her eyes. “Is that all you took away from that? A tidbit on my personal life? Really, Malfoy, we’re twenty, not fifteen.”

Draco shrugged. “Potter touched the teapot three times.”

Suddenly all business again, Granger nodded, picking up a notebook, and scribbling something in it. “Yes, I noticed that, too.” She looked up at Draco. “Have you ever heard of _The Book of a Thousand and One Nights_?”

Draco squinted in thought. “I don’t think so, no.”

“It’s a book of stories and folklore from the Middle East and South Asia. One of the stories is rather famous – _Aladdin_. It’s a story of a young boy who is tricked by a sorcerer into retrieving an oil lamp – a lamp that holds a _djinn_ , or genie.”

“Genies are real, Granger.”

“I know that. My point is, in some versions of the story, Aladdin rubs the lamp three times, and the genie appears to grant three wishes.”

“I didn’t see a genie in your memory. Besides, it’s a teapot, not an oil lamp.”

Granger shook her head, her frizzy curls bouncing. “I don’t think a genie appeared, but perhaps the teapot was somehow converted to hold a genie, and the magic is still there. Or, perhaps it’s something else entirely, but I know the teapot is involved.”

Frowning Draco said, “So you think Potter touched the Floo powder, rubbed the teapot, and that opened an inter-dimensional portal?”

“Yes. What do you think?”

A scathing remark came to Draco’s lips. He took a breath and said, “I think...it’s plausible.”

Granger nodded, making a few more notes. “My thought is, genies can grant wishes, yes? But they’re not real creatures – we can’t kill them, make them extinct – we can only contain their power, usually by shoving them in a container of some kind and locking them away from unsuspecting people. They’re not _natural_ – no one knows how they exist or where they came from. Nothing should have that kind of power, to give someone anything they want without any consequences.”

“There are always consequences, Granger.”

“Yes, for the person getting their wishes fulfilled, maybe, but the genie? That power has to come from somewhere; the natural order of the universe is every action has an equal and opposite reaction; it’s one of Newton’s Laws of Motion. So maybe their punishment is being trapped doing people’s bidding, I don’t know, I doubt anyone that’s come across one has bothered asking. But what if their magic reacted to the Floo powder on Harry’s fingers? What if it created a portal to a parallel universe? If Harry travelled there, the matter that is his body left this space, and it had to be occupied, by the _other Harry_. They can’t occupy the same space at the same time. One went there, one came here.”

Draco blinked slowly. “Assuming I understood anything of what you just said – it’s Muggle science, right? – how does that help us get them back to their respective universes?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. The Harry that’s here now was travelling by Floo when he arrived here. He didn’t even know he was in a different universe right away. So, maybe...”

“Maybe our Potter has to be travelling by Floo to get back here?”

Granger nodded, her mouth set in a grim line.

“But how do we organize that?” Draco asked, crossing his arms and looking calculatingly into the distance. He started chewing on this thumbnail, which was a nasty habit he caught in school when he was working out a particularly troubling problem, usually for Arithmancy. He started to pace. “You say you’ve been trying to create a Floo powder to instantly transport mail, right? Without a Floo?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe if Potter could transport himself to a different dimension, we could send a letter there, too.”

Granger’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Assuming that’s where Harry went, rather than to somewhere else, or some netherspace, I should be able to send a letter using the same methods – hopefully it would get through to the other side, and we could work out a way to get them switched back.” Granger grabbed a piece of parchment and started scribbling out a missive. “I’ll address it to myself. Harry told me my other self works at the Ministry there. Hopefully it will get to me.”

Draco leaned over Granger as she was writing. “What are you going to say?”

“I’m going to tell myself that if she’s not aware of the situation, she damn well is now, and... Wait.”

Draco looked down at her bushy head, puzzled. “What?”

“Shit, what about displacement?”

“What about what?”

Granger turned in her seat to look up at Draco. “Well, if I send this there, _something_ of equal mass has to come back here.” Granger’s mouth twisted up in a consternated frown. Then she shrugged. “Oh well.”

“’Oh well’?”

“If we’re going to get Harry back, needs must, Malfoy.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you were conspiring,” said a voice from the door.

Both Draco and Granger jumped, Granger letting out a small yip – seriously, what was it with that girl? Hadn’t she been in enough danger in her life not to get so easily startled? – and they both looked wide-eyed at Potter, who was standing in the door frame.

“I guess you didn’t hear me knock,” Potter said, coming inside.

“No, sorry, Harry. Lost in a solution – we’re going to get you home,” Granger said in a determined tone, turning back to her letter to herself.

“Oh?” Potter peered toward what Granger was writing in interest.

“Yes,” Draco said, wanting Potter to look at him. “Excited to go home?”

Potter did turn his eyes to him, very deliberately and they betrayed almost nothing. “Yes, I am.”

Well, Draco couldn’t really blame him, but that didn’t make the statement hurt any less. He set his mouth in a grim line and turned back to Granger. Pointing at a part of the letter he said, “Don’t forget to mention timing. Timing is key.”

Granger fluttered her hand in his direction. “Yes, yes, I’m getting to that.”

“We can’t assume they’ll get it, though. How will they get something back to us?”

Granger looked up, searching the rows of objects on a shelf for an answer. “I don’t know. Maybe... Okay, maybe, we can suggest a specific time and place for them to respond? Our Harry had to have appeared somewhere over there that they can put the letter. We’ll drop another letter in the portal at that exact moment, and if they have something for us, the letters should be transported at the same time – triggered by what we send, and the displacement should work. Will work,” she added under her breath, as if reassuring herself.

“That all sounds rather complicated,” Potter said from the other side of the table.

“Oh, Harry, it’s simple physics. That’s why you’re here in the first place. Both Harrys couldn’t have occupied the same space at the same time.”

“So our letter should appear in the Ministry Floo network, then,” Draco said. “By that logic.”

“How so?” Potter asked.

“That’s where you were going when you were transported, right?” Draco said, in his best explanatory-but-don’t-worry-I-don’t-think-you’re-an-idiot voice. “But you landed in Diagon Alley here, instead. So assuming the portal is in a fixed place, since you both can’t occupy the same space at the same time, you came here and Potter went there, and our letter should wind up in the Ministry, which is probably where Potter showed up.”

“What if there’s nothing in that Floo when you send the letter?”

Draco and Granger looked at each other. “Then I suppose we should be prepared for anything,” Granger said.

“Including this not working,” Draco put in.

“There is that, yes,” Granger said, bowing her head over her letter.

Draco looked over to Potter, who looked uneasy. Draco really didn’t know just why he cared – he was never going to see this Potter again, ever – but he wanted to erase that unease. Perhaps with another one of those damnable kisses. The ones that kept him up half the night confused as hell and having less-than-appropriate dreams about a certain Auror.

“Include some of that Floo powder you’ve been working on,” Draco suggested. At Granger’s puzzled look he added, “In case the portal point is in transit. A letter sitting in a Floo won’t do anything but burn. You have to tell it to go somewhere, and regular Floo powder won’t work for that.”

“Good thinking, Malfoy.”

Granger finished her message, and dug around in her desk for an envelope. Producing one, she slid the letter inside, and then took out her wand to unlock a drawer. From there, she reached in and pulled out a small bowl of what looked like ordinary Floo powder. Carefully, she used a small spoon and scooped a bit into the middle of a small piece of parchment. She folded the parchment over onto the powder to create a little envelope, and slipped it inside the other with the letter.

“Okay,” she said. “I think we’re ready for a first go.”

“We should station someone at the Floo Potter came out of in Diagon Alley. So if something comes through because of the displacement, we’ll know it worked. Or, rather, a portal opened. We won’t know if we actually succeeded in our task until we get a response.”

Granger nodded. “I’ve written in the letter that we’ll be ready to receive a reply and they’ll receive another note tomorrow afternoon, at 2pm sharp. Assuming, of course, that they’re on the same time as we are.”

“What do you mean?” Potter asked.

“They might be on a completely different time of day than us.”

Potter shook his head. “I left my witness’s house around eleven A.M. When I finally found Draco here, it was just before noon. My watch says the correct time, and I haven’t touched it. I think the worlds run on the same clock.”

“Well, that should make things right easier,” Granger said.

“Okay, well, Potter, what Floo did you come out of?”

“The one in The Leaky Cauldron.”

“Fantastic. You and I will go. Granger, I’ll send you and owl when we’ve arrived and we’re ready to receive anything that might come through,” Draco said.

“Draco, I don’t think you need to come.”

“Please, Potter. I at least know what I’m looking for. You might mistake a piece of cinder popping out from the hearth as a sign that it worked. I’m coming.” _But certainly not because I want to talk to you or anything._

“It will look more like official Ministry business if you’re not there.”

“Harry, I trust Malfoy to know what we’re looking for. Please just let him go with you.”

Potter shrugged and looked away. “Okay, fine.”

Draco smiled to himself. “You okay here, Granger?”

Granger nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

She pulled the teapot out from the desk drawer, and then cleared the table with her wand before setting the teapot in the centre. Using what looked a little like a face powder brush, she dipped it into the experimental Floo powder and brushed it lightly onto the side of the teapot, and on the side of the letter. Grabbing a pair of tongs from her workstation, she grasped the letter with them, and stood near the table with the teapot.

“I’m ready. I’ll rub the teapot with the letter three times and...I guess we’ll see what happens.”

Draco nodded and started walking out the door, hands casually in his pockets. “Be back with something, I hope. C’mon, Potter.” He heard Potter’s reluctant steps following behind. Once they were out of earshot from Granger’s office and waiting for the lift, Draco said, “I’m not trying to lure you into a skeevy corner of Knockturn Alley so I can torture you for so ungraciously kissing me and then leaving me hanging last night, Potter, so you can stop acting like such a twat.”

Potter managed a chuckle and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. It was a pretty shitty thing to do.”

“Damn straight. You know, I’ve never had someone bail on me in the middle of a snog before. My feelings are _hurt_ , Potter. I hope you’re aware that you owe me,” Draco said as they got onto the lift.

“Oh, do I?”

“Yes. On the pitch. I demand a re-match.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“And you are not to let me win, either. I’m going to beat you because I’m better.”

“Whatever you say, Draco.”

“I _do_ say.”

They arrived in the atrium and Flooed right over to The Leaky Cauldron. Upon arriving, Draco walked up to Tom the barkeep and asked to borrow a pen, parchment, and an owl immediately. And not to let anyone near the Floo, if you don’t mind. Tom, in his weird little way, complied, and Draco ignored the looks he got from the barkeep and the other patrons. Or maybe they were staring at the fact that he arrived with Potter. Yeah, that was probably a bit suspicious.

Finishing his quick note to Granger, he sent the owl off. Then he ordered a bit of brandy and went and stood in front of the fireplace and waited. He wasn’t an alcoholic, despite what Potter said. The brandy was just a front. For them being there. Not because he needed a drink to be around Potter. Nope.

Potter joined him casually a few seconds later, a beer in hand. Apparently he didn’t take offense to Draco’s choice to drink on the job. Or, he understood that a thin cover was better than no cover.

“I really am sorry,” Potter said quietly. “About last night. I’d had too much to drink, and I-”

Draco shrugged. “It’s alright. It answers some questions I had, actually. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about the outcome, you know, with you leaving me and all,” he said ruefully, “but I’ll manage.” He continued to look into the flames.

“I’ve never really admitted that to anyone.”

“What?”

“That I... That I’m in love with my best friend.”

“I’m sure he knows, Potter.”

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Fuck, I think even Granger suspects. You can’t mask your feelings for shit. You make a good run of it, but speaking as someone who was taught their whole life not to show their hand, you’re absolute rubbish.”

Potter smiled. “Thanks, I think.”

Draco looked at him. “I wish you hadn’t, though. I know that’s a shit thing to say, but I wish you hadn’t. It’s mucked everything up.”

Potter’s expression fell. “I’m sorry.”

Draco was going to open his mouth to say he hoped Potter was sorry for all eternity, but then the Floo suddenly flared green and a piece of metal came flying out of the flames, sliding across the floor.

Draco bent down to pick it up. It was a small locket, the chain broken as if yanked off its wearer. He opened it and inside was a little moving picture of a boy and a girl.

Snapping it shut, Draco looked up at Potter. “I think it worked.”

Potter smiled. “Let’s go tell Hermione.”

***

Hermione was thrilled that it appeared that their little experiment worked; she hadn’t quite been willing to admit that she had serious doubts that it would. Of course, to be _really_ certain it had worked, they needed to receive something back. Hopefully from the right Hermione in the right universe.

All of this excitement had made her hungry, and tired. Between trying to keep up with her normal duties over the past week, and figuring out a solution to Harry’s problem, she hadn’t slept much or ate well. What she could do with was one of Molly Weasley’s dinners, but wasn’t sure she should just invite herself over, even if she was like a second mother to Hermione. Though, hopefully someday, she really would be, if Ron would just get it through his head that Hermione loved him no matter what.

Hermione decided to chance it – there was always a meal and an empty chair for family, Molly had told her once. She Apparated to the Burrow and approached the front door, cheered by seeing warm light through the windows, throwing merry beams across the wet grass and the lavender and delphiniums in the flowerbeds.

She knocked and waited for someone to answer, her bag clutched in front of her. She bounced on the balls of her feet, and started to feel that perhaps this was not a good idea after all. Just as she thought perhaps they didn’t hear her knock and that she should just turn around and go home, Molly appeared on the other side of the windowpane set in the door.

Her face bursting in a happy smile, the crinkles in her eyes seeming deeper every time Hermione saw her, Molly opened the door with a joyous greeting.

“Oh, Hermione, dear! Come in, come in!”

As Hermione stepped over the threshold, Molly’s strong arms enveloped her in a motherly hug. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Weasley.”

“It’s been too long, dear,” Molly said as she pulled back. “What brings you here? How’s my son? He never calls, you know. Tell him to call his poor mother.”

“I will,” Hermione said as she followed Molly into the house.

“Are you staying for supper? It’s nearly done,” Molly said.

Hermione nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you. It’s been a long week,” she added, setting her bag down and taking off her robe, folding it over the back of an armchair.

“Hermione!” came a voice from up the stairs.

“Hello, Mr. Weasley.”

“What brings you by?” Arthur said as he descended.

“Honestly? Your wife’s cooking.”

Molly’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “Oh, you flatter me. Now wash up you two, dinner will be ready in a minute.”

Taking comfort in Molly’s mothering, Hermione washed her hands and then took the third place setting at the long table.

“It’s so empty,” Hermione said, almost unthinking, and then blurted, “I mean, with all the kids grown up and...”

“It’s okay, dear,” Molly said, reaching across the table and patting her hand. “I know what you mean. I always knew this time would come, but it is hard to have the Burrow so devoid of children. I’m hoping my own will perhaps help an old woman with that?” Molly said, giving Hermione a secretive smile.

Blushing, Hermione took the proffered bowl of greens and starting serving herself. “Well, I hope so, too.”

“Where is our son?” Arthur asked, looking around as if he had just noticed the absence of his youngest boy. Which, he probably just had, Hermione thought ruefully.

Clearing her throat, Hermione said, “Well, Ron and I are in a bit of a row at the moment, actually.” She kept her eyes on her plate, and realized she didn’t really have a plan for how this idea of coming to the Burrow was going to go.

“Oh,” Arthur said.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Molly said. “My son’s an idiot.” After Hermione’s convulsive snort and suppression of giggles, she continued with, “What’d he do now?”

“I don’t know if he really _did_ anything per se,” Hermione started, “We’re just having a difference of opinion on our careers.”

Molly’s eyes went soft. “Ronald’s always been quick to disappointment when something doesn’t quite go how he’d like.”

Nodding, Hermione said, “And I’ve tried to encourage him to keep trying, or maybe try something else, and that I don’t care _what_ he’s doing, I just want him to be happy. But he thinks I’m too married to my work.”

“Speaking as someone who’s married to someone that has more than his fair share of obsessions,” Molly said in a conspirator’s stage-whisper, “it can sometimes seem like that’s all that matters to them. But trust me, once Ronald sees how much you care about him, and, Gods-willing, any beautiful grandchildren you’d like to give me, he’ll feel much more at ease. He might think it’s ridiculous at times, but he’ll be okay with it.”

“Passions are the only thing worth living for, Hermione!” interjected Arthur, who was not-so-surreptitiously fiddling with something under the table while eating.

Casting him an amused glance, Hermione said to Molly, “Thanks for the advice, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Any time, dear.” Molly wiped her mouth a little with her napkin. “Now tell me, you _are_ planning on giving me more grandbabies, yes?”

***

  
_Potter,_

_You’re skipping work today. Meet me at the field behind the Manor at ten o’clock sharp. Prepare to die a slow, satisfying Seeker death. Satisfying for me, anyhow. If you don’t come, then I’ll know you’re scared of my natural prowess on a broom._

_Malfoy_  


 

Ron snorted and handed Harry back Malfoy’s letter. “Well, I guess you’re going, then.”

“I don’t _have_ to. I do have work to do. I can’t just not show up. Besides, Draco always acts like he can get whatever he wants. I’m mostly immune to it by now,” Harry said with an amused grin.

“You can’t just let Malfoy think you’re scared. Tell Robards you’re sick!”

“Yes, and what about when I have to go back to the Ministry at two to find out if I actually have a chance to go home?”

“Family emergency?” Ron suggested. “Look, I know you feel like you need to _be Harry_ while you’re here-”

“I _am_ Harry. It was your suggestion, anyhow, that I keep up his work.”

“Yes, but...it’s Malfoy! You’ve never backed down from a challenge from him. You should take a holiday, anyway, if it’s your last day here, show that git who’s better!”

Harry stared at Ron for a moment. “Weasley, I think your need to embarrass Draco is kind of ridiculous. He doesn’t even talk to you.”

“So you’re telling me that you and Malfoy never had a laugh at my expense? In your world?”

“Of _course_ we did. You’re kind of a git.”

Frowning, and hurt, Ron said, “Fine then, I’ll just take my _git_ self and go to my _ridiculous_ job. You tell me how it all works out for you. I guess if you don’t come home tonight, I’ll know.”

Ron left his half-eaten cereal on the table and stood, grabbing his bag and his cloak, and left Grimmauld Place, slamming the door with a satisfying clap. He was not two steps from the door when Hermione appeared on the pavement.

“Oh, Ron, hi,” Hermione said, blushing in that pretty way she did. Pushing her hair back from her face she looked up at him and her shy smile turned into concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Harry. He’s everything that’s wrong with the world.”

An amused, sceptical look crossed her features before she said, “I doubt that’s true, but did you want to talk about it?”

Ron shrugged. “I have work.”

Hermione looked at her wristwatch. “Not for another hour.” Reaching forward, she slipped her arm in his and pulled him down the street. “Come on, let’s take a bit of a walk. Besides, you’re only half-dressed.”

Looking down at his Quality Quidditch Supplies shirt over his pyjamas and his slippers, he winced. “Oh, bollocks. Good thing you caught me. What are you doing here, anyhow?”

If Hermione was taken aback by Ron’s rudeness – and yes, he realized post-question that he could have phrased it better – she didn’t show it. She just said dismissively, “I was just coming to talk to Harry about this afternoon.”

“I heard your attempt to open the portal worked,” Ron said as they walked.

Hermione nodded, her arm still on his. Ron chewed the inside of his cheek; he’d been so mad lately that he’d almost forgotten how comforting her presence beside him was.

“I’m honestly a little surprised it worked at all. If it weren’t for Malfoy, I don’t know if I’d have chanced it, let alone worked out all the details so quickly.”

“Pfft. Malfoy,” Ron grumbled.

Hermione’s eyebrows rose and she looked up at him. “Uh-oh, what’d he do?”

Scowling, Ron said, “He sent Harry an owl challenging him to a seeker match. Today. Like, instead of work. I told Harry he should go. Harry said he wasn’t going to – that work was more important. He called me a git and told me my need to embarrass Malfoy is ‘ridiculous’. Can you believe that?”

“Well...maybe it is.”

Ron gave Hermione the most ‘you traitor’ look he could muster. “Oh no, not you too.” He held his head in his hand as if the weight of people liking Malfoy was just too much for his neck to uphold.

“Look, I don’t really like Malfoy, either. His personality leaves a lot to be desired. But, he _was_ helpful yesterday. And he _wanted_ to help. Doesn’t that say something?”

“That he wants something?”

Hermione stopped them and turned to Ron. “Ron, I love you. You know that. Your heart is almost always in the right place, and you really do want the best for people. But you aren’t above your prejudices. I’m not saying like Malfoy, or forgive him, just… Would it be so bad if he and Harry were friends?”

“Which Harry are we talking about, here? Because our Harry hates Malfoy just as much as I do.”

A mild frown crossed Hermione’s brow before it disappeared. “I’m not so sure about that. Remember when he was trying so hard to get Malfoy and his mother amnesty? He pressed for Lucius, but the Wizengamot wouldn’t entertain the idea, and we had to talk him down? Told him it wasn’t worth it, that Lucius would stand trial when he was caught? Why’d he fight so hard?”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t know, I never really thought about it.”

Hermione pushed her hair out of her face, tucking a bit behind her ear. Looking to the ground she said, “I think this Harry might be in love with him.”

Ron stopped walking abruptly. “ _What_?”

“The Harry that’s here right now. The one from the other dimension. I think…I think that Malfoy is his best friend back there, and he’s in love with him. But hasn’t told him, yet.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m not certain. It’s just a hunch. But what if…what if our Harry _did_ like Malfoy?”

Ron’s words got choked up in his throat. He couldn’t believe Hermione was _thinking_ – even _coming up with_ – the idea that Harry could possibly, _ever_ , like Malfoy. Ron shuddered convulsively. “I don’t even see how that could be possible.”

“He broke up with Ginny, didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, so? I love my sister, but, you know, she’s my sister. She’s always been kind of…you know.”

Hermione frowned. “No, Ronald, I don’t know. But that’s beside the point. The only explanation I’ve gotten out of him is that she ‘deserves someone who can love her the way she should be loved’ and that Harry’s not that person.”

“That could mean anything, Hermione. I don’t think it points to Harry fancying Malfoy.”

“I’m not saying it does, either. I just… Despite how different their school-life was, our Harry has an awful lot in common with this Harry. And it had me thinking, is all.”

“I think something might be wrong with your think box,” Ron said.

Hermione gave him her best “not amused” face. “Well, Ronald, you don’t have to agree with me. I’m just asking you to keep an open mind. Malfoy may be a selfish, arrogant arse, but he’s smart, and he was a lot of help yesterday, and I don’t think he’s going anywhere any time soon. Especially since Harry set some stuff in motion to bring his father back.”

Ron sighed, shrugging. “Whatever you say, Hermione. I’m not holding my breath. Malfoy is a prick, and I hope he finds himself living in a hovel smaller than my mum’s kitchen and that his father gets locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Surrounded by Dementors.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open in shock before her features contorted into anger. “Ronald Weasley, I cannot _believe_ you would say such a thing!” She punched him squarely in the chest with the side of her fist. Quite hard, actually. Ow. “That you could _wish_ that on anybody…just… _what is wrong with you_?” Another punch. Ron raised his arms a little to defend against another onslaught, as it appeared Hermione was on a roll. “Lucius Malfoy might be a terrible person, and he _should_ pay for the crimes he’s committed, but _never_ would I wish that on him. Or Malfoy and his mother. How about you try making amends, rather than assuming you’ll never get them? I think you both ought to say you’re sorry to each other, and let it all go, for Merlin’s sake. You and Malfoy keep acting like the eleven-year-olds that pushed Harry in one direction or the other, and it’s has _got to stop_. Grow up!”

With that rather loud declaration, Hermione turned away from him and stormed down the pavement toward Grimmauld Place, where she went inside and slammed the door in a manner very similar to what Ron accomplished just a few moments before.

When did his life start falling apart around him?

***

“Whoa, Hermione, what’s wrong?” Harry said from down the hall as Hermione huffed in indignation just inside the front door.

“Nothing. Just. _Ronald_ ,” she said severely.

“Oh, he throw a fit at you, too?”

Groaning, Hermione slumped her shoulders and walked into the house and back to where Harry was near the kitchen.  “Not exactly, no. He’s just being a complete idiot, and I’m so tired of him being an unnecessary prick about just the dumbest things.”

“Is this about Draco?”

Hermione, nodding, set her bag on the table and sat down. “I get that he’s spent most of his life thinking they were just terrible people, and I’m not saying they weren’t, but I was just trying to appeal to his sensible side, which I guess doesn’t actually exist, considering what he was saying.”

Harry sat down across from her. “What was he saying, exactly?”

“That he hopes Malfoy and his mother become destitute and that Lucius should rot in Azkaban with his soul sucked out by Dementors.”

Harry’s face paled. “I can’t believe he’d say something like that.”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t either. I think he just… He’s blinded by his family feud with the Malfoys. He doesn’t care about them, and honestly, I’m fine with that. But to wish someone _that_ kind of future... I wish he’d just get over it, already.”

Harry was quiet for a moment before saying, “Weasley said his brother died.”

Hermione nodded. “Fred. One of the twins.” Hermione sat back, awash with sudden feelings; that she’d never see Fred and George’s faces grinning conspiratorially down at her, never see them play pranks on their mother, never walk into Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and be greeted by twin voices. “He hasn’t let go of Fred,” she said in realisation.

“I don’t have any siblings, but Draco and I are really close, and if anything ever happened to him, if he ever…” Harry’s voice caught in his throat, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

Hermione nodded. “That doesn’t excuse what he said, though. The Malfoys didn’t cause Fred’s death. Not directly.”

“Maybe he’s just…directing his anger at whoever’s closest. And that’s Draco.”

“I suppose.”

Ron chose that moment to come in. He looked contrite. “Sorry. I just – I need to finish getting ready for work.”

“Ron – wait,” Hermione said, standing. She went to him, paused in the foyer like a bird on a tree branch, looking as if he’d take flight at any moment. “I just wanted to… I just wanted to say, that I’m sorry I yelled at you. I still don’t agree with what you said, but I might understand where it’s coming from. I just wish you’d…I don’t know. Make an effort to stop hating so much.” She took his hand in hers. “We’re alive, aren’t we? I know that doesn’t fix anything, but we shouldn’t waste any time we have left fighting or being mad at each other all the time.”

Ron’s slumped shoulders heaved with a sigh. “I’ll try, Hermione. I’m sorry for being such a git.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” Hermione said gently.

Ron looked up, and past Hermione. She turned to see Harry walking silently up the hall towards them. “Hey, Harry,” Ron said.

“Weasley.”

“Hey, look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line. I mean, I guess Hermione told you what I said. I’m sorry for that. That was dumb.”

Harry regarded Weasley with resigned wariness. “Goddammit, Weasley. I don’t even _want_ to hate you. Hermione’s right. _Why_ do I hate you? Because you made fun of Draco’s name? Because you’ve always been a bit of a prick to the both of us? And why does Draco hate you? Because your fathers hate each other? Their generation was there at the start of Voldemort – they chose their sides – and we chose ours, and we ended it. So we could put a stop to this bullshit. And maybe I’ll never have a chance to tell the other Weasley this, but I’m going to tell you; I’m tired of petty fighting. It’s fine if you never like Draco, or if he never likes you, but I’ve never liked you, and here I am, at least _trying_. There’s no point in wasting so much time and energy hating a person. It’s exhausting.”

Ron swallowed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll...try better. Maybe Malfoy and I will never be friends, but I can’t keep blaming him. I still think he’s a git, but if you or the other Harry wants to be friends with him, there’s not really a whole lot I can do.” He shrugged. “It _is_ exhausting.”

“I guess that’s all I can ask,” Harry said.

“Right,” Hermione said after a moment. “I’m glad that’s settled. Ron, it’s almost time for work, you should probably finish getting ready. Harry, I wanted to talk to you about today.”

Ron nodded and plodded up the stairs, a defeated slope to his shoulders that Hermione vowed to make disappear in the near future, and Harry, a grim line to his mouth, nodded himself and turned back to the kitchen.

“Tea?” Harry asked Hermione as she resumed her seat.

Feeling weary down to her bones, Hermione said, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“You play peace-keeper a lot, don’t you?” Harry asked, his back to Hermione as he filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

“No offense, but I am the sensible one,” Hermione said with a small smile.

Harry turned to look at her. “I was always playing referee between you and Draco back home.”

Hermione let her eyebrows rise at this. “Oh? Did we fight a lot?”

Harry shrugged, turning to pull a tea cup out of the cupboard. “Not really. But at first, it was kind of hard to get you both to talk. Mostly because Draco didn’t have a lot of nice things to say about you. And you never took his shit.”

Hermione laughed. “I still don’t.”

Harry set a cup and saucer in front of Hermione and went to gather a teabag. “I really think you guys could be friends, if you tried,” he said. “Assuming Draco will ever get over himself and accept my help.” He handed Hermione her teabag.

“Yes, about that. What are your plans, exactly? If you’re to be leaving soon, I’d like to know, if only so I can explain it to Harry.”

Harry nodded and leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to boil. “Mainly, I’m just gathering intel on Lucius’ whereabouts. See if he’s come out of hiding at all. See if anyone notices anything suspicious. To be honest, I don’t know exactly where Harry’s been digging. I imagine he’s checked all the usual places – Knockturn, Bulgaria, France, any of his old contacts that may still be alive... So all I can really do is keep checking. And ask a few choice friends that prefer the seedy underbelly to keep a lookout for anything unusual. Or anyone.”

“You mean like Mundugus?”

“Yes,” Harry said as the kettle started to whistle. He turned to take it off the stove as Ron came down the stairs.

“Er...I’m going to work!” he called out.

“’Bye!” Harry said, pouring water in Hermione’s cup.

“I’ll come by later, ‘kay, Ron?” Hermione asked, leaning a little to catch Ron’s eye. “I promise I won’t send Harry off without you.”

Ron nodded. “That sounds good. Thanks.”

“Have a good day at work!” Hermione called as Ron left. When the door latch clicked shut, she sat back and sighed. “I wish I knew how to make this all better. How to make it so things are...I don’t know. It just feels like we’re always struggling, you know? Still struggling to stay alive or something.” She added some milk to her tea and took a sip.

Harry had sat down across from her. “I’ve had trouble with that, too. Trying to figure out how to live like a normal person might. But, I dunno, maybe that’s just not our way anymore. We were never normal. Why start now?”

Hermione smiled. “I like you. I miss Harry a lot, but, you know, you’re still different from him, in some ways. I wish we could keep you.”

Harry chuckled. “Thanks, I think? Part of me wishes I could stay. But I think we all know that’d be a terrible idea. We have to at least try to get your Harry back.”

“Yes, and I wanted to say that I hope you could be around at two today? For the obvious reason that I need to have someone help with another displacement. I’d ask Malfoy, but I don’t know if he’d be willing.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t. He was pretty excited yesterday. But I’ll see. If I get pulled away on a case or something, I’ll send him an owl.”

“That would be great. I just wouldn’t want anyone coming across something they weren’t supposed to, and this is a fairly coordinated event. It has to be timed perfectly. I didn’t want to assume you’d be available, since I know you’re trying to cover for Harry.”

“Of course. I’ll try my best to be there.”

“I heard Malfoy challenged you to a Seeker match today.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah, he says I owe him. And I’m not to just let him win. That he’s going to beat me because he’s better.”

“You owe him? What for?”

A light blush started at Harry’s cheeks and moved up to his ears. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just something stupid I did.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry’s ducked head. “What did you do?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s really stupid.”

“Then you shouldn’t mind telling me. I’m your best friend, aren’t I?”

“You can be really nosy, you know that?”

Hermione shrugged and sat back, smiling. “Consider it one of my more charming qualities.”

Harry avoided her eyes and fell back against his chair. “I kissed him. It was stupid, I apologised, and we’re over it.”

“You...oh. I see.”

“What? What do you see?”

Hermione took a sip of her tea, which was growing cold. “I just had my suspicions. Did Malfoy freak out? Did he hex you?”

“What? No. He just...kissed me back.” At what Hermione could only imagine was a rather shocked look on her face, he said quickly, “I’m the one that stopped it. I don’t...he’s not _my_ Draco, you know? And it was wrong. I’m not even supposed to be here. I was a bit pissed, and things with him can be so easy, you know? Well, no, you probably don’t. But I made a mistake, and I apologised, and it’s fine. We patched things up.”

“Okay. I believe you. I’m just a little surprised, is all. I didn’t take Malfoy for being...”

“Gay?”

“Well, no. I mean, I guess I never thought about it either way. I just didn’t think that maybe he would accept your advances. I thought you were still working on the ‘friend’ angle.”

“I was. Apparently I don’t know the strength of my own powers of persuasion.”

Laughing, Hermione pushed back her chair and stood. “This has been quite the enlightening morning. And I am late for work. So are you. Shall we be off?”

***

Draco stalked through the atrium of the Ministry, checking his wand with a severe scowl on his face that terrified the clerk inside. Well, he assumed. He wanted to be terrifying. He snatched his wand away from the clerk, ignoring the wizard’s muttered protests. He didn’t have time for people like him anyhow.

He stepped into the lift, slamming the gate closed and giving a death glare to a wizard that stopped short in front of said gate, saying with short breath, “I asked you to hold the lift!”

“Lose some weight, then, and maybe you’ll make it next time,” Draco snarled, pressing the button for “2” - Magical Law Enforcement.

He ascended, and as he ascended, he seethed. He didn’t care that the other riders on the lift were pressed against the walls, leaning away from him. Even the inter-departmental memos floated higher and farther away than usual. All he wanted was to punch someone in the face. Instead, an unlucky memo found itself crushed in his fist and left in a twitchy ball on the floor.

The lift doors opened, and Draco stormed out, more pissed off than before, since waiting was never a virtue of his. He strode down the hall and then turned left, opening the door to the Magical Law Enforcement office. His new Quidditch pads and gloves gleamed in the overhead light as he walked past the receptionist and started stalking through the rows of desks until he found Potter. He ignored the receptionist as she tried to stop him; stating he hadn’t signed in, apparently, and he “couldn’t go back there without proper business!” Oh well. He was on a mission of extreme importance. Signing in was not important.

“Potter!” Draco started shouting, drawing more attention. A few Aurors and clerks poked their heads out of their cubicles and one even stood to try and stop him with words, but words would not sway Draco in his mission. “Bloody hell,” he swore under his breath. “Potter!”

A man, tall with a long, straight nose and a small wart near his left eye, stepped out of an office and said calmly and sternly, “Auror Potter isn’t here, Mr. Malfoy. He’s out on a case. Can I help you?”

Bristling a little, but holding his tongue, Draco said, “No. I need Potter. Where is his desk? I’ll wait there.”

The man held out an arm, turning to welcome Draco into the office behind him. “Why don’t you come inside so we can chat a minute?”

Regarding the man warily, but discerning he had station here, Draco took the offer and entered the man’s office.

Closing the door behind them, the man, who now looked familiar, circled Draco and went to stand behind the desk near the wall opposite. He gestured for Draco to sit, as he sat himself. Draco hesitated for a moment, but took one of the chairs facing the imposing desk. He leaned back and crossed an ankle over his knee, as if he was entirely comfortable being ushered into an office with a wizard he didn’t know that clearly had some type of authority, rather than feeling like he needed to make sure that the magical windows on the other side of the desk were really just magical, and couldn’t be used as an escape route if need be.

“My name is Gawain Robards. I am the Head of the Auror Department here in the Ministry.”

“I thought you looked familiar.”

“Yes, I’ve had my face in the papers a few times.”

“So what did we need to chat about?”

“I have a letter of recommendation on my desk, here,” Robards said, lifting up a few pieces of parchment. “It gives a very strong appeal for a certain former Death Eater to be allowed acceptance into our Auror training program.”

“I’m sorry?”

Robards smiled. “It seems you have a friend in the Ministry, Mr. Malfoy.”

“It was Potter, wasn’t it.”

“I won’t say. But, I will tell you that this letter has me intrigued. Would you even be interested in being an Auror, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco straightened a little. “I honestly have never thought about it before. And I was never a Death Eater.”

“But you have the Mark?”

“It was forcibly given to me, yes.”

Robards nodded in understanding. “Well, it’s not easy. And it’ll be least easy on you, if you decide to, considering your past.”

“Why would you even consider it?”

“Let’s just say that this isn’t the first letter I’ve received. It’s just been the most convincing.”

Draco stayed silent, his anger mostly deflated. He was still mad at Potter for standing him up, and upset that he had stepped in and poked his nose where it didn’t belong – hadn’t he told Potter to mind his own business? – but another part of him was relieved. The not-knowing if it was even possible was now a moot point. It _was_ possible. Or, at least, that’s how Robards was making it sound.

At Draco prolonged silence, Robards said. “Think about it. And here’s an application, if you decide that being and Auror is the right thing for you. It’s not for everybody. So think it over, talk about it with your mother, whatever you’ve got to do to be sure. You’re only getting one shot.”

Swallowing, Draco nodded and took the proffered parchment. “Thank you,” was all he could manage.

“We start a new batch of Auror training in a month. You have two weeks to get that back to me.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll let Potter know you stopped by,” Robards said.

“Right. Okay. Thank you,” Draco said, a bit in a daze. He stood and left the office, closing the door with a soft click behind him. He looked up, and found the whole of the Auror department staring at him – but just for a second, before their frantic work started again, and all resumed to normal.

Normal for everyone but him.

***  
Draco pressed “9” on the lift automatically, without really thinking about where he was going. He rode the lift down numbly, not quite sure how to sort out his feelings. Grateful? Annoyed? Relieved? Surprised? He couldn’t tell which one took precedence in his brain; he kept going from one to the other so quickly that he eventually felt blank. Too much, too quickly.

Knocking on Granger’s door, he waited for her answer before he entered; almost hoping she wasn’t in, once he realised where he was.

“Hi, Granger.”

Granger spun around on her stool. “Malfoy. Oh, hi. Uh...could Harry not make it?”

“What?”

“I asked Harry to help this afternoon...he said he’d owl you if he couldn’t make it.” She checked her wristwatch. “It’s only noon. You’re early.”

“I just assumed I’d be here,” Draco said, with a hint of derision, as he stepped farther into the room. “And no, Potter didn’t owl me. But I can tell you he’s out on a case...so he might not make it, as it were.” He leaned on one hand at the edge of a table.

“I see. Why are you wearing Quidditch gear?”

Draco shrugged. “Potter stood me up.”

“Let me guess. You stormed over here to tell him off? And he wasn’t here?”

“No, he wasn’t. But Robards was. And he offered me this.” Draco slapped the application down onto the table he was leaning against.

Granger stood and stepped over, picking up the parchment. “Auror? They want you for MLE?”

“Gee, Granger. Curb your enthusiasm, please.”

“Sorry, I just... Interesting.”

“Don’t even try to contain your surprise.”

She looked up at him, a little wide-eyed. “I didn’t know about this. I just asked Harry this morning; he didn’t mention this.”

“You’re telling me Potter has secrets? From the two growths on his hip? I find _that_ hard to believe.”

Granger glanced up at Draco quickly, like she was afraid to make eye contact. “Harry has lots of secrets,” was all she said.

“Like that he’s in love with me, you mean? The _other_ me, at any rate?”

“Well, _this_ Harry has that secret, yes. I guess he couldn’t really avoid telling you.”

“Might have been hard with his face attached to mine at the mouth, yes.”

Granger blushed, which made no sense to Draco.

He snorted, realising something. “He set me up, that bastard.”

“What do you mean?”

“He deliberately flaked out on me so I’d come down to the Ministry and Robards would talk to me.”

“Maybe. It’s not like he knows when he’s going to be called into the field.”

“Whatever. He planned something.”

Granger regarded him for a moment. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Let’s go get lunch.”

“I’m not having lunch with you.”

“Suit yourself. But you came down here for a reason.”

“Yeah, to find out what Potter’s plans are,” Draco fibbed. Well, it _was_ something he wanted to know.

“Sorry, I don’t know his plans.”

“Bollocks. You’re _supposed_ to be his best, platonic, girl-shaped friend, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Then what good are you without Potter’s plans? You must know _something_.”

“I know enough to make a few assumptions. If you join me for lunch, I might tell you.”

Tipping back his head and groaning, Draco bit out, “ _Fine_. But I get to choose where.”

“Fine by me.”

They wound up side-along Apparating to one of Draco’s favourite places: The Blacksmith and the Toffeemaker. The multi-brick building sat on a corner on the nether end of St. John Street, tucked away somewhere between Clerkenwell and Islington, just east of King’s Cross near the City University of London. It was a Muggle Gastro pub, which surprised Granger, he could tell, but he found more anonymity in Muggle company since the war. It was easier to ignore the looks when no one was looking at you. Or if they were, it was because they thought you were dressed funny. Or gorgeous. Which was obviously the case, here.

“Do you even have any quid on you?” Granger asked as they approached.

“Actually, I left all of my money at home. I didn’t think I’d need it, flying and all.”

Granger rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing I always keep a little Muggle money in my bag,” she said. “Never know when you might need it. Plus, my parents like to send me a little coin, like I’m not doing just fine.” She snorted a little under her breath. “I think they do it to still feel a little more connected to me, since, you know, I’m a witch, and they’re not.”

“Don’t care. But I owe you.”

Draco took off his pads, shrunk them, and put them in his pocket. He entered The Blacksmith and the Toffeemaker and asked for a table in the corner. He saw Granger hurriedly altering her appearance, supposedly for the better, before she walked in after him.

“Draco, this is the first I’ve seen you with a lady-friend,” said Kyle, Draco’s usual waiter, as they slid onto their wooden stools, the natural light pouring in through the windows and the heather blue walls and bar a bit of a comfort to Draco. It had been a while since he’d been here.

Draco shrugged. “She’s not really a friend, and I don’t know about the lady part, either.”

“Malfoy!” Granger said. Draco shot her a wicked grin.

“It’s just lunch, Kyle. Promise I’m not cheating on you.”

Kyle gave him a dubious look. “If you say so. The usual?”

“For me. I don’t know what Granger will be having here, though.”

“That’s a funny name,” Kyle said, raising an eyebrow over dark brown eyes.

“It’s my last name. My first name is Hermione.”

Kyle still had a bemused look on his face. “Well, I suppose that’s an improvement. I’ll get you a menu.”

Granger stared after Kyle in shock. “How rude!”

“Ah, you can see why I like this place, can’t you?”

Granger just shook her head in disbelief. “You are such an arse.”

Shrugging, Draco said, “I don’t need you to like me, Granger. I just need you to buy me lunch and tell me Potter’s plans.”

Kyle came back and handed Granger a menu. “I’ll be back in a minute. Anything to drink, Girl-With-the-Funny-Name?”

Rolling her eyes, Granger ordered a water.

Kyle lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t respond, except to walk back to the bar and ask the barkeep for a pint of Director’s and very loudly for a water. Draco snorted in amusement while Granger glowered behind her menu.

Draco looked around The B and The T for a moment. The orange bowl lanterns over the bar shone as if someone had just dusted, the deli case was filled with pickled vege, and bits of pastry and bread. Someone sat behind them, enjoying coffee and the paper near the fireplace. Draco could hear a private gathering in the back behind the curtain.

Kyle came back with their drinks. “Know what you’d like, love?”

Granger looked at him through her fringe, unsure of the endearment. “I’ll have the home-cured salmon with pea cress salad & dill dressing,” she said, handing him back the menu.

“Coming right up,” Kyle said, smiling at Draco before leaving to put in their order.

“Alright,” Draco said, sipping his ale. “Plans. Cough it up.”

Hermione sighed. “Malfoy, I don’t really know any plans he might have. All he mentioned was getting your father back. You know, he’s been putting out feelers and talking to some people, asking them to keep an eye out.”

“Okay, I already assumed as much. What about this Auror business? Robards mentioned he’d received more than one letter of recommendation. Do you know anything about that?”

Granger shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. Harry – neither of them – ever mentioned anything like that to me.”

“Clearly Potter likes keeping some things to himself.”

“I really wish he wouldn’t. I mean, there are _things_ , I know, that one just needs to keep for themselves, but sometimes, Harry’s knack for keeping things close to the vest winds up hurting more than helping.”

“How so?”

“His nightmares, for example. He didn’t tell us about those. Thought they didn’t matter. Then, when we found out, we realised what was going on, and he started up Occlumency lessons.”

“Occlumency? When?”

“Fifth year. With Snape.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “Merlin. There is just so much I never knew.”

Kyle came over and placed their dishes in front of them. “Cheers,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do,” Draco said, smiling.

Once Kyle walked away, Granger said, “I think he likes you.”

Draco shrugged, grabbing a dripping chip from next to his Angus burger and munched. “We’ve had a few conversations when it’s been slow. He’s just a Muggle.”

“Yeah, a Muggle you _know_. Does your mum know about this place?” Granger picked up her fork and started in on her salad.

Draco shrugged again. “She doesn’t need to know.”

“I can see Harry’s not the only one keeping secrets.”

“Oh, come off it, Granger. I’m not a Muggle-lover, okay? I just prefer to eat publicly away from all those sodding wizards who think they’re better than me. They’re _not_ , okay? Including you.” He took a pull from his ale.

“Okay, Malfoy, whatever. I just thought it was nice, you know, that you knew a Muggle and didn’t, like, kill him or hex him or something.”

Draco set his ale down with more force than was necessary. “You sound really ignorant when you say things like that, you know?”

Granger blinked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you would _want to_. That was a stupid thing to say, you’re right.”

Huffing, Draco pushed his plate away. “Great. Now I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Malfoy, I’m sorry. Really. That was a dumb thing to say. I’m sure you would never... I mean, I just...”

Draco sighed. “Well, I haven’t really given you any other impression, have I?”

“Still. I just gave Ron hell for saying something stupid like that this morning. And then I just went and did the same thing.”

“Was Weasley at least crying when you were done with him?” Draco drawled.

To Draco’s surprise, Granger laughed. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I did punch him pretty hard.”

Draco winced. “I remember that punch. I say Weasley went down crying like a baby.”

“Hey, now, that’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.” It was said with mirth.

“Yeah, we need to talk about that, too.”

“Disapprove? Malfoy, that’d actually imply that you _care_ about me.” Granger resumed eating her salad.

“Not at all. Just. Weasley.” It was paired with a shudder.

“Well, I’m going to tell you what I told Ron this morning: you two need to get over it and move on. You don’t need to be friends, but grow up, would you? You’d think we were past all this.”

Draco pressed his lips together. “Eh, maybe I will. Maybe I like clinging to old habits. Tradition, you know. It’s important.”

“I agree. To a point. But what about Harry? He kissed you, and from what I hear, you kissed him back, so...I don’t know, doesn’t that kind of change things anyhow?”

“Potter’s _leaving_ , Granger.”

“And our Harry’s coming back.” She said it in a way that felt like she was still convincing herself that it was going to happen, and, you know, Potter would come back in once piece.

“So?”

“ _So_... Maybe you should kiss and make up with him, too.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “We’ll see. I don’t talk to that Potter.”

“And? You managed to find a way to talk to this one. Harry cares. He’s just rubbish at showing it.”

“Clearly. It took a completely different version of Potter to bring all of his machinations to light.”

“I’m sure you two can get together once he gets back and sort it all out. In the meantime, are you going to apply? For Auror training, I mean?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know, yet.”

“Well, I could put in a word for you, too. I mean, you helped a lot yesterday. They could use some good analytical minds up there.”

“Er...you don’t have to, Granger, thanks.”

Granger shrugged, finishing off her salad. “The offer stands.”

“So Potter really just wants... _something_ for me, then?”

“Something better? Yes, probably. Look, getting you and your mother amnesty took care of his life debt to her. But pursuing leads to find your father for the same? Writing letters to Robards? That’s not just the Slytherin Harry. That’s just... Harry. That tells me he’s trying to extend an olive branch. Probably not one I’d recommend he extend in the past, but things change. People change. Maybe it’s just time.”

“My mother said something similar.”

“Smart lady.”

“Are you done? Let’s get out of here.”

“What about your food?”

“I’ll save it for later. I know a good preserving charm.”

***

It was a quarter to two when Potter burst through Granger’s laboratory door, panting. “I’m not late, am I? Did I miss it?”

Draco, who had been bent over Granger’s desk writing a letter to his other self, looked up and drawled, “Yes. You missed everything. And I’m sorry, Potter, but you will _not_ be going home. I’m afraid I’m stuck with you. Pity.”

“He’s lying, Harry,” said Granger from the other side of the room, as she tinkered with one of her many ongoing projects.

“I am not. Lying is not in my vocabulary.”

“Then what do you call it?”

“Colourful hyperbole,” Draco and Potter said at the same time. They shared a smile, and then Draco turned back to his letter, finishing it with a flourish.

“The other Draco uses that, too?”

Potter stepped up and said quietly, “Yeah.”

“All set,” Draco said to Granger, sealing it with his family’s ring.

“Perfect. Okay, well you guys should probably get going to the Leaky. I’ll make sure things go smoothly here.”

“Two p.m. sharp,” Draco confirmed, handing her his letter. “We’ll be ready.”

As they walked down the hall to the lift, Potter opened his mouth, but Draco cut him off. “Don’t even say it, Potter.”

“Say what?”

“I can tell. You’re going to make a big deal out of this.”

“Out of what?”

“Me and Granger. Don’t worry. I’m not stealing her away from Weasley.”

“I didn’t think that. I was just going to say that you guys seemed like you were getting on, is all.” They entered the lift.

Draco shrugged. “I hear she laid out Weasley this morning. She’s got my vote.”

“Um...she didn’t punch Weasley.”

“She said she did.”

Potter blinked. “Huh. Maybe that’s why he looked like a kicked puppy.”

“I wish I could have seen it,” Draco said wistfully.

“We’re kind of fucked up, you know that?”

Draco shrugged again. He seemed to have caught Potter’s shrugging affliction. “We’re interesting. It’s better than being boring.”

“True.”

They took the Floo to The Leaky Cauldron and dusted themselves off while they waited by the fire.

“Will you two be needing anything today?” Tom asked from behind the bar.

“No, thank you, Tom. We’re only here for a bit,” Potter said for both of them. “What’d you write in your letter?” he asked Draco.

“Sorry. Privileged information. For my eyes only. Also, I set up a time to try again. We have to make sure it’s really working, and not just a fluke. Better safe than have you wind up in a billion little pieces.”

“Can I send a letter to my other self next time?”

“Sure. But use small words. I don’t know if I trust Gryffindor-Potter to understand you.”

Potter laughed. “I’m pretty much him, and he’s me. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Draco eyed Potter speculatively. “Hmm... No, I don’t see the resemblance.”

Potter smiled into the fire. “You will.”

“You seem so sure of your other self.”

Potter ran a hand through his hair and looked Draco straight in the eye. “Call it a hunch. I learned very quickly in my life not to ignore them.”

 _I’m going to miss this_.

The thought was sudden and almost foreign. It wasn’t something Draco had been musing on, but perhaps subconsciously he had feared what was coming – Potter was leaving, and Draco would never see him again. Regardless of what he said, they _weren’t_ the same.

Draco would have never let the other Potter slip under his carefully built walls of derision and loathing of everything around him and get him to actually enjoy something again. He’d never let the other Potter disarm him so, wishing for that next moment alone, so Draco could... What? Snog him? Would that satisfy Draco? Right now, Draco just longed...for something. Mostly for this Potter to never leave. Because it wouldn’t be the same. Draco knew that with all certainty. The other Potter, _his_ Potter, he thought with a mental snort, would never look at Draco with friendship, with a secret smile of something more.

Never. It would never happen.

“Draco? Earth to Draco...”

Draco blinked, and looked over to Potter, who was looking at him expectantly. “What?”

“Nothing. You were just lost for a moment there. Everything alright?”

Draco straightened and nodded curtly. “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay...” Potter looked at his wrist watch. “Almost time.”

They continued to look into the fire, hearts beating a little faster, willing the flames to turn green and a letter to fly out.

Just when Draco was starting to think that maybe it didn’t work and Potter took a step back, sighing, the flames flared up, flashing green, and a letter shot out of the fireplace, flying across the room and landing under a table. Draco strode over quickly and grabbed it, tearing it open and scanned it.

“Who’s it from?” Potter asked, his breath light with excitement.

“Granger. Draco says ‘hi’ by the way, and wants to know if I’m treating you too terribly.”

Potter smirked. “I’ll have to tell him that you’re the biggest git I’ve ever met. I’m sure he’ll take it personally. It’ll be fun talking him down.”

“I think it’d be a bigger shock that Weasley’s been _nice_ to you during your stay.” Draco folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket. “Let’s get back. Granger’s hair is probably turned into an afro by now, under her duress.”

“How do you even know what an afro is?”

Draco shrugged as he threw some Floo powder into the flames. “When all you have to do is read...” Then he stepped into the fire.

***

He had never really thought about it; liking blokes. It just never occurred to him to be an option, though he didn’t particularly care if blokes liked other blokes or birds liked other birds; he just had always thought his life would consist of amazing adventures, loyal best friends, perfect grades, a well-paying and hopefully satisfying job, and a wife and a kid or two, to pass on the family heritage.

Staring up at the ceiling from his rather large bed, he sighed. He’d always had trouble resting during sleep; his mother called it being anxious for the next day, Draco called it insomnia. Maybe when he was younger, and more in awe of the world around him, he had been far too excited for sleep. But now, with nothing in his life but books and booze, he stared at the ceiling a lot, and it was because he was bored. Too bored to sleep, if that made any sense, which it didn’t, but there was nothing exciting waiting on the other end of the night; just more books and more booze, and more ‘normal’ with Mother.

So no, blokes had never really occurred to him as something to consider in his life. And considering what a cock-up the rest of that plan had been, maybe it was time he _did_ consider.

But – amazing kissing aside, did he even _like_ Potter? Did he see himself engaging with him in a sexual way? Draco wasn’t sure. The kiss had been a fluke – a chance meeting of lips because Potter was missing his bestie, and it had only been an inkling in the very corner of Draco’s mind – a thing that had seeded when Potter looked at him with light in his eyes, and started to grow when he’d share stories and laugh or make jokes about sleeping with Draco, and it had made him wonder...did the other Draco have a sexual relationship with Potter? Potter said no, but now he knew; Potter wanted the answer to be yes.

But Draco – _me_ , his inner voice clarified rather loudly – Draco couldn’t have him, could he? He was leaving. He could be leaving as soon as tomorrow, Draco didn’t know. The letter was mostly just the other Granger talking about what they’d found out about the incident, and that they hadn’t yet figured out ‘how on earth to get Harry back to you, so thank God you managed something from your end!’ and ‘Draco misses you, Harry, and if the other Draco has mistreated you at all, Draco promises to exact some form of revenge, and says not to worry.’ Pfft. He had tried just about all he could do short of actually hurting Potter to get him to go away, but he had turned out to be a stubborn git, and now Draco felt stuck with him. And he knew it wouldn’t be the same when the other Potter got back. The ‘original Potter’? Fuck it, he might as well refer to the one that was currently here as Harry. It’d be easier for him to keep track. But old habits. He had been ‘Harry Potter’ for the first decade of his life, and then for the second, he’d become just ‘Potter’. Now he was...the _other_ Potter, as if he was some version of Potter that shouldn’t have existed. Which made no sense. And now Draco was just feeling overloaded with conflicting feelings, and none of this thinking was doing him any good.

He rolled over in bed, and watched the moonlight peek through the drapes. He stared at the patch on the wall opposite, watching as it slowly, oh so very slowly, made a path across the wall and towards the floor. The sunlit moon, carving its way across the night sky, sharing the light of the sun in silvery whiteness.

Despite what Potter – no, Harry now, his brain supplied – said about their similarities, Draco knew; they were only so alike, and their rather drastic differences in Hogwarts Houses and friends and obviously experiences wouldn’t make for the same person. The one that had been here before was an idiot and a prick; he only saw what he wanted to see. But Harry, he saw all of the things; the things that made Draco flawed, and the things that made him brilliant, and he knew from experience that there was better out there for Draco, and he was doing all he could to make it happen in his stay, however long it was going to be. He saw the things that happened, and listened to Weasley’s account of a war not his own, and still knew, he _knew_ that this world, this universe, _this reality_ was the culmination of a certain set of circumstances.

It rained, and Harry Potter was his friend.

He didn’t care that Draco hadn’t wanted anything to do with him; he wanted to be with his best friend, and so he made it so he could be. Potter never would have done that.

He had told Harry that he hadn’t been happy about the outcome of the kiss, but that he’d get over it. That was probably one of the biggest lies he had ever told. And probably the only one that mattered. He had said later that the kiss had mucked everything up; and it did. It made Draco _want_ something. He felt like he hadn’t wanted anything in a very long time. But now he _wanted_ , and couldn’t have. It wasn’t something so easily gotten over. But he still couldn’t have, and wasn’t that just Draco’s luck?

But, on the other hand, Harry _was_ leaving something for him. Something he _could_ want, too.

Draco reached out and picked up the Auror Training application off of his nightstand. He had talked it over with his mother, and though she made it clear it was completely his choice, he could tell from the light in her eyes that having an Auror for a son was probably one of the greatest things she could think of for them. She wasn’t completely unselfish, he knew. He understood that Aurors were generally very respected in the Wizarding community; while some would be sceptical, having a son for an Auror would do nothing but help Narcissa and her slowly climbing social status, in a way that throwing fundraisers and soirees couldn’t. And, he knew, she would be proud of him, even if she couldn’t say it out loud just yet, he saw it in her eyes. He could be an Auror, and he’d get out of the house, and help the Malfoy name...none of these things were bad, in her view.

He turned on the gas lamp on his night stand, and blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden yellow glow in the room, he sat up and reached for a quill and some ink. As the moon tracked across the sky, Draco made a decision. He decided to want something, something only for himself.

***

Draco felt a tickle on his nose and scrunched up his face, making a half-asleep pass at stopping whatever it was that was tickling him.

“Mum...go away. Sleep,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t realise you were such a deep sleeper. If I’d known, I’d come over earlier. As it is, we’re late.”

Some part of Draco’s brain registered that his mum wasn’t in the room and he cracked an eye open. Standing darkly over him in the morning light’s shadow was Harry, smiling down at him with a laugh at the corner of his mouth.

“Ugh...Potter, I hate you.” Draco pushed his face into his pillow and pulled up his covers.

Harry took hold of his blankets and pulled them back down. “Do you normally sleep in this late?” he asked. “My Draco’s always been an early riser. It always annoyed him that I wanted to spend half my days in bed.”

“Well, Potter, when one doesn’t have much going on in their life, sleep seems like a good way to pass the time,” Draco said, making to grab the covers back.

“Ah, ah. No. It’s Quidditch time. Get up, get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs. Also, your mum’s made quiche.”

Draco propped himself up on his elbows and tracked Harry sleepily as he circled back around Draco’s bed toward the door. “Quiche?”

Harry nodded, smiling. Pulling open the door, he said, “We only have a few hours before we have to be at the lab, Draco. Hurry up.”

The second the door closed, Draco finished tossing back the duvet and sat up, putting his slippers on. He stood, stretching, and went into his bathroom. After pissing and washing his ink-stained hands, Draco caught a sight of himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. His light blond hair was askew in a manner not unlike Harry’s, and he had pillow creases on his cheek. Wonderful. He rubbed his face vigorously in an effort to wake himself up, and went to get dressed.

After making an attempt to tame his hair, which mostly worked, and dressing in warm gear, Draco plodded down the stairs to the dining hall, his new Quidditch pads under his arm.

“Draco, dear, how lovely of you to join us.”

“’Morning, Mother,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I hear there’s quiche involved this morning.”

“Yes, and it’s getting cold.” Narcissa gestured for Draco to sit. “What kept you up all night? It’s not like you to sleep so late,” she said, and Draco shot a look to Harry, who was smiling like a buffoon.

“Nothing, Mother. Just finished filling out my application.”

“So you’re applying, then?” she said, sounding pleased.  
“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Application?” Harry asked.

“Draco’s applying to be an Auror, Mr. Potter. I hear the head of the department gave him the application himself.”

“Oh, he did?” Harry asked, sounding mildly surprised.

Draco glared a little over his tea. “Yes, he did, Potter. Do you have a problem with that?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

“Any advice for Draco, Mr. Potter?”

“Er... Practice your defensive spells. And don’t be too cocky.”

Narcissa cleared her throat of a laugh and Draco continued to glare. “Are you implying that I’m cocky, Potter?”

“Of course not. Most of the time.”

Draco set down his fork, his quiche barely touched. Standing he said, “Alright, that’s it, enough of your obvious attempt to get me off my game before I’ve even finished tea. Let’s go.” Draco then picked up his pads and stalked toward the foyer, where his broom was propped up. He heard Harry thanking his mother for breakfast and then his quick steps to follow Draco.

They made their way out to the field and Draco resolutely didn’t talk to Harry, preferring to glower silently as they walked. He could _feel_ Harry smiling next to him, though, and tried not to let its infectiousness break his mission to crush him like a scarab beetle for some Wit-Sharpening Potion.

Once they reached the field, Draco gave Harry a curt nod and Harry released the Snitch. They took flight in tandem, the bite of the mid-morning chill nipping Draco’s cheeks until they turned pink. He gripped his broom a little tighter and pressed on, making a quick dive to throw Harry off. Harry laughed half-way through the dive, realising Draco’s plan. Harry circled around the field, grinning and shaking his head.

“It’ll take more than that to fool me, Draco!”

Draco pulled up next to him. “I don’t know, Potter, I’m pretty sure you’ve fallen for it before.”

“Shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you.”

“Then I am ashamed. But you’re still not getting that Snitch.”

“See? This is that cockiness I was talking about.”

“What’s wrong with acting a little wide? It’s not like I didn’t earn it.”

“The right to be cocky?” Harry chuckled. “No, I don’t think you’ve earned that quite yet.”

“I will. It’s an inevitability,” Draco said, then took off for a golden glint hiding in the trees.

Harry followed suit and they chased it together, weaving about the trees and roughing up a few branches. At one particularly sharp turn, Draco’s lower half slipped off his broom and in his shock, he fell, his broom following. He landed on the blanket of brown needles and leaves of the forest floor with an “oof!” and struggled to catch his breath.

Harry appeared at his side, Firebolt forgotten, and he pulled Draco up into a sitting position. “Hold your hands over your head. Breathe,” he instructed.

Draco did as he was told, and took small breaths until his lungs finally started cooperating again and he was able to take deeper breaths.

“Thanks,” he said, panting.

Harry smiled. “I’ve gotten the wind knocked out of me a few times,” he said. “Usually when dealing with flying objects of a suspicious nature.”

“Is that a common thing, then? Being an Auror, I mean. Having to take care of questionable objects?”

Harry shrugged. “We’re usually called on scene for any suspicious behaviour of any kind. Could be the result of dark magic. You never know.”

Draco leaned back on his hands. “Huh. I suppose I should start revisiting some of the old Hogwarts curriculum, then, shouldn’t I?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Harry said. “Most wizards get into the program right after their N.E.W.T.s, so a lot of it is fresh in their minds.”

“I never finished my N.E.W.T.s. Is that going to be a problem?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure. You might have to pass some kind of test, or take them or something before they let you in.”

“But _something_ you said made Robards change his mind about me. He wouldn’t have given me this application if he didn’t think I was qualified.”

“I didn’t say anything to him,” Harry said.

“But he said he had a letter. A _convincing_ letter. He said there were others, but this one was particularly persuasive.”

“I didn’t write him a letter, Draco.”

“Then who did?”

Harry shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Draco started to stand. “Maybe it was Granger, that sneaky bint. Though I have no idea why she’d do that. Making it off like she had no idea.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, helping Draco by the arm, but he didn’t seem convinced.

Harry leaned down to pick up his Firebolt. “Well, I guess we better get back to it,” he said.

As he stood, the Snitch flitted right between them. The sudden movement out of the corner of his eye caused Harry to pull back instinctively, but Draco’s hand shot out and his fingers closed over the little golden ball.

“HA! See? Take your eye off the prize, Potter, and you lose.” Draco grinned at Harry, while Harry stood, absolutely dumbfounded, blinking.

“Well, then,” was all he said.

Draco suppressed the desire to do a little shimmy in celebration. He picked up his broom and let go of the Snitch. “Up for another match?”

Harry grinned. “You bet your arse.”

***

They arrived at Granger’s lab just in time to get an eyeful of a Granger-Weasley snog session.

“Oh, _good Gods_ , Granger! What did I tell you about locking the door?” Draco exclaimed, bringing his arms up to block the sight from his eyes.

“Ew. Yeah, that is kind of gross,” Harry said beside him.

“Oh, come off it,” Weasley said, straightening his robes. “At least you didn’t catch us shagging on the bench.”

Turning a rather alarming shade of pink, Granger turned away from everyone and said, “God, Ron, could you at least _try_ for a little modesty?”

Draco, who had been peeking through his fingers to make sure it was okay to come out, saw Weasley glance down, then adjust his robes again. “Give me a few minutes, ‘Mione, jeeze.”

Making a gagging sound, Draco turned away and leaned into Harry. “Oh, Merlin, please make the images go away,” he said.

Harry snickered. “Yeah... _that’s_ going to stick around for a while.”

“Urgh,” was Draco’s response.

“So...um...Weasley, I thought you had work?” Harry asked while Draco recovered.

“Actually, I have the next two days off,” said Weasley.

“Yes, Ron’s been feeling rather left out of all the excitement, you see,” Granger said.

“His growing excitement is fairly evident,” Draco joked, and Harry burst out into more snickers.

“Oh, you two, honestly,” Granger admonished.

“Glad to see you two made up,” Harry said.

“I’m not,” Draco said honestly. “Granger, what happened to standing your ground and laying Weasley out, leaving him crying like a baby on the pavement?”

“I never said any of that,” Granger said as Weasley looked taken aback.

“Well, it was _implied_. During lunch yesterday.”

“You had lunch with Malfoy?” Weasley asked, obviously put off.

Draco preened, enjoying Weasley’s discomfort. “Yes, and it was quite an affair, wasn’t it, Granger?”

Granger rolled her eyes, unimpressed by Draco’s insinuation. “We just chatted and had some food, Ron. Really. Ignore him.”

“I try. It’s hard.”

“That’s not the only thing,” Harry whispered in his ear, and Draco bit back a smile, forcing his laughter back down his throat.

“You two are a pair of children, really,” Granger said. “Harry, do you have your letter?”

Pulling some folded parchment out of his robes, Harry stepped forward. “Yeah, right here. Think this’ll be the last time?” he asked, and suddenly, nothing was funny to Draco anymore.

“I think one last time. To set up a formal time to do it. So far, it seems they can’t do much from their end beyond being ready to send and receive, which they’re obviously managing to accomplish, despite what problems they might have acquiring a specific Floo. But, there’s also a lot about this we still don’t know. What we do know, is that the catalyst is on _our_ end; the teapot.”

“You mean this one right here?” Weasley said, picking it up for inspection. “It doesn’t look like much.”

“Ron, do be careful.”

“Yeah, Weasley, it’s the only catalyst we have,” Draco said, and reached forward to take it out of Weasley’s hands. “Oh, dear me,” he said, as it _accidentally_ slipped out of his fingers.

Granger let out a squeak, and Harry dived, his arms outstretched, and caught the teapot, only just. As he sat up on his knees, he said, panting, “You did that on purpose.”

Guilt flooded Draco’s veins, but he maintained his innocence. “No, I didn’t. It slipped.”

Harry looked up at him, and stood slowly, setting the teapot down on the table. “I know you, Draco. I’ve seen you on a broom. I’ve seen you catch a Snitch. And I can see the guilt all over your face. You let it slip because you don’t want me to leave, and for your Harry to come back.”

“That-that’s not true,” Draco said with conviction, but his voice betrayed him and wobbled.

“I get it, but you don’t understand. I have my own world to get back to, and a Draco who’s probably tearing his hair out by now. And you have a Harry that probably wants to get back here as well. I don’t belong here, Draco.”

“Yes. Yes, you do. You’re Harry Potter. You’re doing just fine, here. There’s no need to go anywhere, you see, because you have a you taking care of things back there.”

Harry shook his head, and Draco could see his jaw clenching. “No, Draco. I’m going back. I can’t stay here.”

“Oh, I see. You don’t _want_ to stay here. I get it. So making me believe you were my friend, playing Quidditch, working to get amnesty for my father, _cooking dinner for my mother_ , that was all, what? Just a way to pass the time?”

“Draco, please don’t make this difficult. The other Harry is coming back.”

“ _You are not the same!_ ” Draco yelled.

Harry stepped forward and took Draco by the shoulders. “He and I are still the same person; different set of circumstances, but I’m _in there_ somewhere. You just have to _find_ me.”

Draco pushed Harry’s hands away, stepping back. “You keep saying that, but I don’t see how that would be possible. You’re _nothing_ alike. And I refuse to believe that having _him_ back here would be the same.”

A noise came from Weasley’s throat. “Er...not to interrupt or anything, but if you two need the room to kiss and make up...”

“Fuck off, Weasley,” Draco spat. He then turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

As he stalked up the hall to the lifts, he held on tight to his anger. It was the only thing he could think of to focus on that would keep him from completely falling apart. As he reached forward to call a lift, his hand was trembling. The lift was waiting for him, and he took a shaky breath and rode the lift blissfully alone, before entering the Atrium and taking a Floo to the Manor. The ride was probably the last thing Draco’s stomach needed, and he tumbled out of his own Floo with bile in his throat.

He walked quickly to the nearest toilet, locking the door behind him, and stood over the sink, willing his stomach to cooperate. He splashed water on his face, and swallowed repeatedly. His hands still shook, and his stomach roiled. He kept squeezing his eyes shut, and breathed through his nose, trying to subside the tremble building in his chest. But none of it was working. He was shaking, and gulping in air, and he fell back against the wall, realising with some amount of shock that he was in the middle of a panic attack.

A knock came to the door. “Draco, are you alright?” his mother asked.

“Go away, Mum,” he said through clenched teeth. She couldn’t see him like this. She’d never understand.

He heard her use an unlocking charm on the door, and turned away from her entrance into the room. It’s a wonder they make locks on doors anymore.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

“Mum,” he said carefully, “please leave me be.”

Her hands lighted upon his shoulders, and she squeezed briefly. “Just breathe, darling. It’ll pass.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s okay, Draco. I’ve had them, too.”

Draco breathed deeply through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “I’m fine, Mother.”

“No, you’re not, and that’s okay. It’s okay not to be fine, Draco.”

Draco whirled around, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “No, Mother. Not it’s not. I’m the only one here to take care of you. How am I supposed to do that when I’m blubbering like a damn baby?”

Narcissa’s normally cool grey eyes went soft and warm. “I know you’ve always felt that you have to somehow project a sense of being completely put-together, love, but I am your mother. You don’t have to be strong for me. That’s my job.” Her hands came up to cup his jaw. “If you need to cry, or completely fall apart, it’s okay to do it in front of me. You’re my son, and I’ll do whatever is in my power to protect you, but I can only do that if you tell me what you need protection from. I know your father always likes to say that asking for help is a sign of weakness, but _I_ think, that if you can’t ask for help from your mother, than it’s not worth getting upset over.”

A few tears escaped down Draco’s face, and caught on his mother’s fingers. He looked down and took another shaky breath. “You’re going to laugh. I want to laugh. It’s utterly ridiculous.”

“Well, maybe we can laugh together.”

“It’s Potter. He – well, he’s leaving. He _wants_ to leave. And I don’t want him to.”

Narcissa smiled sadly. “I know you don’t, dear. But that’s not really your call.”

“I thought you liked him?”

“I do. But I imagine I could find a way to like the old Potter as well. If he wants to make the effort. Look, Draco, I know you think that this is the end of the world, your newfound best friend leaving you, but I tell you, it’s not. Even if the old Potter never is your friend, you’ll have the knowledge that someone besides your father and I had your best interests at heart. And that he did more than anyone else to make sure you’d be okay once he left. He always knew he was leaving.” Her hands slid down to his shoulders. “You’ll be _fine_. Potter will come back, and he may or may not want your company. But maybe that’s for you to decide. If you want his.”

“They’re not the same.”

“I think they’re more alike than you think.”

“He keeps telling me that, too.”

“Just sleep on it. And if you want to spend the rest of your life hating Potter, then so be it. But don’t let one Potter’s departure and one Potter’s arrival back into your life define how the rest of it will follow. You’re better than that, and your life is worth more than that. And I’m so proud that you’re starting to realise it for yourself.”

Swallowing, Draco nodded. “Yes, Mum.”

“Good.” She kissed his forehead. “How about I go make us some tea? That ought to settle your nerves, hm?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Draco waited a minute after his mother left, and stepped up to the mirror. He wiped the unshed tears from his eyes and cheeks, and glared at his blotchy skin and his red eyes. He was starting to think he was mad, spending all this energy on a guy he barely knew, and on _Harry Potter_ , no less.

Ah, but you _do_ know him, some other part of his brain supplied. You know him quite well, in fact.

Draco pursed his lips. He supposed he did, but that didn’t really explain weeping like a girl.

Sighing, a headache forming at his temples, he ran the water cold for a moment before splashing some more on his face, hoping to bring his complexion back down to its normal pallor. He dried off his face and hands and turned off the stream, before leaving the toilet for the study.

He started a fire and sat down in one of the armchairs. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help but look at the spot in front of the twin chair opposite, the exact spot, where Harry had kissed him. Draco hadn’t necessarily understood it at the time; he had wanted it, but didn’t know why. He’d never had thoughts about Potter (or Harry) before, let alone any blokes, but it was...nice. Draco screwed up his face in disgust. It was ‘nice’? That’s all he could think about it? It was more than that, but perhaps it was just what Draco’s body thought it needed. Attention, and a distraction from his otherwise rather boring life.

Which it had been anything but, since Slytherin Harry Potter appeared on Draco’s doorstep. No, something that Harry Potter never was, was boring. If anything, he was about all that made Draco’s life some form of interesting, even if it was just that Draco liked to make his life harder because he could. But that didn’t change the fact that the Harry he _liked_ was leaving, and the one he _hated_ was coming back.

“Here you are, dear,” Narcissa said, startling him out of his thoughts. She set a silver tray with a teapot, matching cups and saucers, milk and sugar down on the table between the chairs, and took the chair next to him.

“Thank you, Mum.” He reached over and made himself a cuppa.

“Do you feel any better now?” she asked after a few moments.

“Yes. Just...thinking.”

“Can I inquire as to what about?” she asked, sipping from her own cup.

“Just wondering why I care so much. Like...what changed? Harry keeps insisting that he and Potter are the same, but I just don’t see it.”

“Well, maybe he only seems different because you have never taken the chance to get to know the Potter that you grew up with.”

“I did. He was a tosser.”

He saw his mother’s mouth curl up in a smile before she sipped her tea. “Maybe that is this Harry’s point. Potter never saw you as a friend either, and so he had no reason to be...amiable. From what I remember, there were quite a few letters home about how Potter was a ‘tosser’ and how you planned to embarrass him and his friends.”

Draco met her eyes and was met with but no judgment. “Yes, well, at the time, he deserved it.”

Narcissa’s laugh was soft, as she looked into the fire. “I’m sure he thought you deserved a few things, too. Wasn’t it that Mudblood friend of his that punched you when you were thirteen?”

“Granger. Yes. I somehow keep being reminded of that.”

“I’m not placing blame on anyone. You were children, and in some ways, you still are. However, as I’ve said before, I think it’s high time to put it all behind you. Dislike him when he gets back or not, that’s your decision. But don’t let that stop you from exploring your future, Draco.”

Draco was silent a moment, mulling over her perspective. “Thank you, Mother.” He set his tea cup down. “I think I’m going to go retrieve my book from my room. I’ll be right down.”

“Alright, dear.”

When Draco returned, he heard his mother’s cordial voice before he entered the room, and stopped just short of crossing the threshold when he heard Harry’s voice. Peeking just inside, he saw his mother leaning towards the fire, which was now casting a sickly green glow over the room.

“...I just wanted to talk to him for a moment, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“I don’t think he’s ready to talk to you just yet, Mr. Potter.”

“But I... I understand that he’s upset, and why. I just wanted to apologize. I don’t really know how to fix this, or make it better for him, but I want to say goodbye at least. Could you give him a message for me?”

“I suppose I can do that.”

“Just tell him that, we, er, we decided on a time. For me to go back home. Tomorrow, at four in the afternoon. Could you tell him that, please? I’d really like him to be there.”

“I will tell him. Is that all?”

“Could you stress how sorry I am? I know this hasn’t been easy...I just... It’d really mean a lot to me if he were there, tomorrow.”

Draco saw his mother nod. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I will relay your sincerest regrets and tell him of your departure plans. However, I will forewarn you, his participation will be entirely up to him.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. And Mr. Potter?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I trust you understand my meaning.”

“I – Yes. I do. You’re welcome.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Potter.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Malfoy.”

The Floo-call ended, and Draco stepped into the room. “I guess he really wants me there,” he said.

His mother turned, as if entirely aware of his presence the whole time. “Yes, I believe so.”

Draco walked to his chair. “What were you thanking him for?”

Narcissa smiled secretively. “For a variety of things, I suppose. Mostly for helping you get out of the house.”

“Gee, thanks, Mother.”

“You’re welcome.”

Draco sat, then reached over and took one of his mother’s hands in his. “I love you, you know that?”

“I do. And I, you. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

“I’d never leave you by yourself. Especially not after...everything.”

Narcissa’s eyes looked a little misty, but she only took a deep breath and squeezed his hands. “Things will turn out for us in the end, Draco. They always do for us.”

Draco looked down at the worn cover of his novel and thought about the opportunity still lying in front of him. “I think they will, too.”

***

Draco knocked softly, taking a breath as he waited for an answer. The door opened just as he was exhaling, and he pulled back just a little when he saw Harry in the doorway.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” Harry said, and Draco thought he looked rather relieved.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to come,” Draco said, stepping over the threshold.

“Hey,” Harry said, stopping Draco with a hand on his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Draco gave Harry a small strained smile and nodded.

“Malfoy, glad you could make it,” Granger said. “We can use the extra body.”

“For what?”

“Well, someone should stay here with Harry, to make sure it all goes smoothly, and Ron and I would like to greet our Harry together.”

“He should be fine,” Harry said. “It really just felt like I was going through the Floo. A bit of a rough ride, maybe, but nothing he can’t handle.”

Granger nodded. She was setting up the teapot alone on a table, and the small pot of Floo Powder nearby.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Harry said, his arms flapping a little at his sides.

Granger rushed forward and enveloped Harry in a hug. And her hair. “Good luck,” she said. “We’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me again soon,” Harry replied with an easy smile.

“No we won’t,” Draco said under his breath.

“I hope that’s not true,” she said jokingly, but it had a bit of seriousness to it.

“It was...good to meet ya, mate,” Weasley said, sticking out his hand awkwardly.

Harry shook it, saying, “You’re not so bad, Weasley.”

“Er...thanks.”

Draco felt sulky. And his hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets. Bowing his head, he leaned against a table, his shoulders hunched, trying to look relaxed and not at all fazed by what was about to happen. He knew it wasn’t working.

Harry approached him.

“This is all really touching, but we can skip the tearful goodbye,” Draco said before Harry could open his mouth.

Harry apparently didn’t have properly working ear drums, because he came right up to Draco anyway. Putting his hands on Draco’s shoulders, Harry leaned in and whispered, “I think I’m going to miss you the most, Scarecrow.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter. Kindly unhand me.”

“ _The_ _Wizard of Oz._ Watch it, please.”

“As soon as I can figure out what you mean, I’ll do that.”

“Hey, chin up. Your own Potter-shaped torture doll will be arriving any minute now.”

Despite himself, Draco smiled. “I really hate you.”

“You really don’t. And you won’t hate him either, I promise. But that’s okay. It’s _okay_ , Draco.” Harry him pulled Draco into a hug. “I’m going to miss you, too,” he said into Draco’s shoulder.

Draco’s arms reluctantly came up, his fingers grabbing purchase in the cloak on Harry’s back. “Harry...I... Thank you. For...everything.”

Harry squeezed him one last time. Stepping back, he beamed. “You’ll be okay.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I know it’s true.” Harry grabbed both sides of Draco’s face and pressed their foreheads together. “Trust me.”

Draco closed his eyes. “I do.”

Harry pulled away. “Good. Then I guess I should be going, yeah?” he said as he whirled away from Draco.

It felt like the world had just been sucked away from him.

“We’ll go get Harry,” Hermione said, taking Ron by the arm and steering him toward the door.

“Good luck!” Ron called as they left.

Harry walked over to Granger’s workbench and dipped his fingers into the small bowl of Floo powder and checked his watch.

“Ninety seconds,” he said.

“And then you’ll be back. In your world. With your Draco.”

“Yes.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m happy for you. It just took me a while to get there.”

Harry smiled through his fringe. “I know. But I know you’ll be in good hands, so I’m not worried.” He checked his watch again, and it made Draco’s stomach clench.

“I wanted to thank you, too,” Harry said, a little breathless. He was running out of time.

“For what?”

“For giving me the courage to stand up for what I believe in. And to tell Draco how I feel.”

“I’m not really sure how I contributed to that, but you’re welcome.”

Harry smiled and touched the teapot once. Twice.  Draco’s eyes were transfixed on his fingers. “The thing I like about you, is you don’t even realise how much you matter.”

Before Draco could formulate a proper response, Harry touched his fingers to the teapot once more, and a bright light consumed the room. When the light had faded, and Draco’s eyes had started readjusting to the lower light, Harry Potter was gone.

***


	2. Part II

*******

  
Hermione was gripping Ron’s hand so tightly it hurt, as they stood in front of The Leaky Cauldron’s fireplace counting down the seconds. Four came and went, a few seconds passing like hours, then the flames turned green, and a dark-haired, robed figure tumbled out of the Floo.

“HARRY!” Hermione exclaimed, dropping Ron’s hand and rushing forward. “Thank god. Oh, thank god. Are you okay? Harry? Harry speak to me!”

Harry pushed himself up into a half-sitting position, groaning. “I’m fine, Hermione. I’m fine.” He coughed lightly, ash from the Floo flying in the air around him.

“Merlin, mate, we thought we’d never see you again,” Ron said, crouched down beside them. He reached out a hand to touch Harry’s shoulder, as if to ascertain that he was real.

“Yeah, I just about thought the same thing, a week ago.” Harry took off his soot-stained glasses and wiped them off with a slightly cleaner bit of his shirt.

“How was it over there?” Ron asked. “Was it terrible? We heard Malfoy was your best friend or something.”

Harry glanced at Ron sideways then quickly looked away. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, let’s get you cleaned up and back to the lab,” Hermione said, helping Harry stand. He wobbled a little on his heels, then righted himself.

“I’m okay. I’m fine. Just...rough ride.”

“Yeah, the other Harry said something like that,” said Ron.

“If we’re going back to the Ministry, I’d prefer to walk, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione said. She noticed the odd looks they were getting from Tom and the patrons of the Leaky. “Everything’s fine, folks, just...testing out some new Floo Powder!” A few men at the bar grumbled and turned back to their drinks. “Shall we be off, then?” she said.

Harry nodded and started toward the door. Ron and Hermione shared a look of relief and worry before following.

“Is...Malfoy around?” Harry asked, as they walked down the street towards the Ministry.

“Yes. He’s back in the lab...monitoring the other Harry’s departure.”

Harry nodded.

“Harry...are you okay?” Hermione asked, shooting Ron a concerned look.

“Yes, Hermione, I’m fine. I just want to talk to Draco, is all.”

“Draco?” Ron said, dubious. “Since when is Malfoy ‘Draco’?”

“Since we... Since he and I... He just is, okay, Ron?”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, “I’m not sure your first priority should be to talk to Malfoy. I need to examine you fully to make sure there were no adverse affects from all of this inter-dimensional travelling you’ve been doing lately.”

“I feel _fine_ , Hermione. Honestly.”

“Yes, but still. For my own sanity, at least.”

“Whatever you want.”

They squeezed into the abandoned telephone box, a much tighter squeeze than it had been when they were all fifteen, and descended to the Atrium. They checked their wands and went down a floor to the D.O.M., an awkward silence hanging between them. Hermione wanted to know what Harry was thinking, and she could tell Ron was itching to bombard Harry with questions about the particulars of his visit to the other world, so she put a hand over his as an unspoken warning to stay silent for the time being. Harry didn’t want to talk just yet, that much was obvious. But she wasn’t sure exactly what else was going on in his head, and it worried her.

Hermione opened her laboratory door and called out. “Malfoy! Harry’s back! It worked! How was... Malfoy?”

They looked around at an empty room. Malfoy wasn’t there.

“Well, where is he?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered.

“Maybe he went back with the other Harry,” said Ron, sounding far too pleased. Even Harry gave him a dirty look.

“No, Ron, I don’t think so. Only Harry came out of the Floo at the Leaky. Because of the displacement, if Draco would have gone through with Harry, more than just Harry would have had to come through the other direction.”

“Sorry, what?”

Hermione rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. No, I don’t think Malfoy went with Harry. He probably just went home.”

“I should go check on him,” Harry said, turning around.

Hermione headed him off and shut the door. “No. Harry, you need to sit down so I can examine you. You’ve been through quite an ordeal; you don’t need to see Malfoy right now. He’ll be waiting for you when we’re done.”

“Draco doesn’t really wait for people,” Harry said as an argument.

“Harry, are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Ron asked. “You keep talking about Malfoy like...like you’re friends or something.”

“Well, Ron, that’s because we are. Or, rather, I became friends with him, while I was over there.”

“Oh. Did you...were you able to talk to me? I mean, the other me?” Ron asked.

“Er...no. Not really.”

“Oh.” Ron looked a little like he had when he and Hermione had fought earlier in the week. Forlorn and a little lost.

“Harry, please sit down,” Hermione said to break the awkward tension.

Sighing, Harry did as she asked, and answered all of her questions with a bored detachment that worried Hermione further.

“Harry,” she started quietly, “What...what was it like? When you were taken over there?”

Harry shrugged. “It hurt. A lot, actually. I wasn’t expecting it, and then there was the bumpy Floo ride, and I think I remember throwing up.”

“On the Atrium floor?”

“Yeah. I blacked out for a moment. When I came to, a wizard was standing over me, asking me if I was alright.”

Hermione ‘hmmed’ and tapped her fingers on her lips. “Were you able to find me? The other Hermione, I mean?”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t working down here in the D.O.M.”

“Really? Where was she, then?”

“She was in the M.L.E., actually, with me and Draco.”

“The M.L.E.?” Ron said, chuckling lightly. “Why would she become an Auror?”

“She wasn’t an Auror. She was working on making some of the pro-pureblood laws illegal.”

“I was a lawmaker?”

“Kind of.”

“Hm...interesting.”

“Why interesting?” Ron asked.

Hermione blushed. “Well, because...er...I was thinking about maybe changing departments in the future, actually.”

“You want to change jobs? Why? Don’t you like your job?”

“Of course I do, Ronald. I don’t mean right this second. But I’m not making that much of a difference, here. I’m creating this new Floo powder so I can help relieve our dependence on owls as a delivery service. I _want_ to help disenfranchised creatures, like house elves. So I thought I’d petition to work with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Maybe that will lead to working with the M.L.E.”

“I think you’d be great at helping magical creatures, Hermione,” Harry said, smiling.

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Well, of course she would be. You know, if they want the help.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked.

“Are you guys still fighting?” Harry asked.

Hermione put her hands on her hips. “Well, we made up a few days ago, but if Ron’s going to keep this ridiculous notion that my work isn’t important-”

“I never said that,” Ron cut in.

“...then I imagine we’re still fighting,” Hermione finished, as if Ron hadn’t spoken.

“Well, it’s good to finally know what’s going on with you two,” Harry said, standing. “Ron, Hermione, if either of you need my spare bedroom, just ask. I’m going to go home and lie down. I’m knackered.”

“Okay, Harry. You call me if you notice _anything_ off, alright? I don’t care what it is...I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Now I know what it’s like to have a mother,” Harry said tongue-in-cheek as he walked to the door. “I’ll be fine, Hermione. But thanks for worrying. See you both later.”

Hermione watched Harry leave and worried her lip.

“Do you really think it’s safe to let him go off alone?”

Hermione sighed. “Well, Ron, you know how he gets. He can be more stubborn than you.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you earlier. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, too. I’m not looking to switch jobs just yet. But maybe we could work on getting you a better one.”

“That’d be cool,” Ron said, smiling.

“I’m tired from all this excitement. I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. It’s almost like being up all night studying for our O.W.L.s again.”

Ron groaned. “Don’t remind me. You and your damned colour-coded study schedule. Harry and I were plotting to steal it from you and burn it, but we couldn’t get into the girl’s dormitory.”

“Lucky bit of magic, that,” Hermione said, packing up her knapsack and slinging it over her shoulder.

Ron followed her out of the lab, waited for her to lock up, and then waited again for the lift. He put his hands on her shoulders and rubbed little circles with his thumbs. Leaning down he whispered in her ear, “How about we go back to the Burrow and bother Mum for something to eat.”

“Oh, Ron, you know just how to make a girl feel loved.” And she meant it, too. She wasn’t much for domesticity at the moment, and god knows Ron couldn’t cook to save his life. Maybe they’d learn, when they had kids. Molly would be happy about that.

***

Draco spent the evening sipping scotch by the fire, staring at the words in his book but not really reading them. They were kind of meaningless, with the state his head was in, but he didn’t want to – _couldn’t_ – really think about why he was just sitting here, staring stupidly at page ninety-four and letting his toes get far too warm by the fire.

Harry was gone. Just like that. Draco saw it happen, and still, he almost expected Harry to suddenly appear on his doorstep, happy to see him and asking for another go at Seeking, or perhaps another shot of that ‘damn fine scotch’ Draco’s father had.

It wouldn’t happen, though. Not ever again. He’d never see Harry again. Not _his_ Harry. The other Potter was back, now, probably celebrating with Granger and the Git, and with Draco’s luck, he’d probably come over first thing in the morning, demanding to know what Draco had done to get Harry to grant his father amnesty and how on earth he managed to get a shot in the Auror Training Program.

_Well, to that,_ Draco thought, _I say_ , _sod off, Potter. You have your better self to thank for that, you tosser_.

Draco shut his book and set it aside, standing. He hadn’t eaten all evening, and he was feeling peckish. He went into the kitchen and opened the cupboards, looking for some crisps or biscuits, or something at all to satisfy the emptiness in his stomach. Not finding a thing, he opened the icebox and spotted an apple. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he supposed it would do.

Closing the door, he let out a tiny yelp upon seeing his mother standing on the other side. “Merlin, Mother, you shouldn’t sneak around in your own house. It’s creepy.”

“I wasn’t sneaking. I’m just very quiet. A skill you ought to think more about, if you want to be an Auror. Did you send out your application?”

“Yes, I sent it this morning. I never finished my N.E.W.T.s, though, so I’m not sure if they’ll accept it.” He rolled the apple around in his hands.

“Perhaps you can take the tests, without the coursework, and they’ll accept you based on that.”

“Perhaps, but who would give a former Death Eater that chance?”

“I still have some friends in the Ministry. I’m sure we could arrange something, if need be.”

“Training starts in about a month. Robards said I had two weeks to get the application to him.” He tossed the apple in the air a few times.

“Then we’ll get you the exams before then. I’ll write Auror Robards in regards to your marks, and see if we can’t work something out.”

“Thank you, Mother, but I’d prefer you not interfere. I want to do this on my own.”

“Alright. If you insist.”

“I need to make a name for myself.”

“I think that’s very wise.”

Draco set the apple he’d been juggling on the table. It gleamed red and gold in the light, its ruddy striations a part of its beauty. Draco almost hated to cut into it, but he was hungry. It was just an apple, after all.

“It seems something else is on your mind, dear.”

Draco pulled out a knife from the cutting block and found a board to cut on. “I think you know what’s on my mind, Mother.”

“It is okay to miss him, you know.”

“I know.”

“Do you? When was the last time you lost someone you called friend?”

Draco split the apple in half. “Crabbe.”

Narcissa approached him and put a comforting hand on his arm. “He died a fool’s death, Draco. It is sad that he’s gone, but what other friends have you had? They’ve all left. If they’ve all abandoned you in the aftermath of the war, were they really friends at all?”

“I shut them out, too, Mother.”

“I know. I just wanted you to think about what friends you may have now, and to remind that you have things to focus on. Things you’ve been given by friends.”

“It wasn’t him, Mum. He didn’t write that letter of recommendation.”

“Then you have other friends. Friends worth having in your corner. Now is not the time to be destroyed by a lost friend. He had a destiny, being here, and now it’s over. And you both have to move on.”

“I’m trying, Mother.”

“Remember, Draco. This is for you and your family. We will be back on top again.”

“We will,” Draco echoed, and finished cutting up his apple while she turned and left the kitchen. “Good to know we’re still concerned about that,” he said under his breath, setting down the knife. He suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. He put the pieces of apple in a bowl and cast a preserving charm on them, setting the bowl in the icebox.

A dreamless sleeping draught would do nicely, right about now.

Draco went into his room, and pulled out his trunk, opening it to find his old text books from Hogwarts. _Advanced Potion-Making_ was buried a few layers deep, under his Slytherin memorabilia and a few robes he had since grown out of.

He uncovered his cauldron and brought it and his book to his desk, looking up the _Draught of Living Death_. It required things he didn’t have, but he’d get tomorrow. It couldn’t hurt to go to Diagon Alley and find out what was required for seventh year. He had just under a month – maybe only two weeks – to prove that he had the required knowledge and marks to make it into the Auror Training Program.

He had work to do.

***

Diagon Alley was bustling as always, but thankfully all of the Hogwarts shoppers were long gone, the new school year having started a month ago. He didn’t remember the last time he wandered in from The Leaky Cauldron, and was admittedly a little nervous about what his reception might be, especially considering his recent and rather public history with Harry. Though he got a few sidelong glances as he strolled through the street, he ignored them all with the air only a Malfoy could exude, and entered Flourish and Blotts.

The assistant manager approached him when the bell jingled his arrival, and he asked curtly for the list of current Hogwarts textbooks required for seventh year, and any other materials pertaining to N.E.W.T.s level courses. He had his books from his unfinished seventh year still in his trunk, but with the disaster that year had been under Death Eater rule, the coursework had to have changed in the two years since. The shopkeeper was quite helpful in retrieving the books Draco needed, only staring at him curiously for a moment or two, and was more than pleased when Draco dropped a few Galleons on the counter in payment.

“Shall I have these delivered to your, uh, residence, Mister...?”

“Malfoy. Yes. The address is Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.” Draco pulled his gloves back on.

“Mr. Malfoy, of course. They should be there by this evening.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

He left the bookshop and strolled back up the alley to the Apothecary. The familiar scent of cardamom and sandalwood brought back memories of shopping here before each year, gathering the potions ingredients required for Snape’s classes. He hadn’t thought of Snape in years. They were never terribly close, but Draco looked up to him all the same, and it had taken time, but he had finally understood how Snape had been trying to help Draco all those years ago. Before he...

Well, Potter had made sure everyone knew that Snape had been one of the good guys. Whether anyone believed him or not wasn’t Draco’s concern. He knew Potter wouldn’t say those things without good reason. Snape and Potter had hated each other more than Potter and Draco hated each other.

The shopkeeper called out from the back, saying he’d be just a minute. Draco didn’t mind. He ran his fingers over jars of asphodel, belladonna, dittany, hellebore, peppermint, rue and wormwood, admiring their strange shapes and worn labels.

The shopkeeper came out from the back, a slightly stooped older wizard who had strangely delicate looking hands for the lines on his face.

“How can I help you, laddie?”

“I need this list of ingredients, please,” Draco said, handing over a piece of parchment.

The wizard glanced over the list. “That’ll be all?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look old enough to have any youngin’s at Hogwarts,” the wizard said, toddling around the store and pulling jars from the shelves.

“I don’t. These are for me.”

“They’re right out of the books for sixth and seventh year Potions class.”

“Yes, well, they’re fairly common potions ingredients, aren’t they?”

“You’re that Malfoy boy, aren’t you?” the wizard said, looking Draco up and down with new found recognition. “Yes, I remember you. You were always in here with your mum or da, every summer, getting ingredients for Hogwarts.”

“Good memory,” Draco said, resigned.

“It’s hard to forget an entire family with hair the colour of snow.”

“Er...well, I suppose not,” Draco said, feeling a distinct need to cast a glamour charm. Damn his astonishing and distinctive good looks.

The wizard weighed and measured each ingredient, setting them aside in little parcels. He nattered away about good Wizarding families, and how there were so few left. How it was a damn shame how the Malfoys had been treated, but thank Merlin for Harry Potter, pardoning them, it wouldn’t do for the whole lot to be rotting in Azkaban.

“Hmm...no, that would be terrible,” Draco murmured, feeling quite awkward and wondering how a pro-pureblood wizard could get away with owning a shop in Diagon Alley in this political climate anymore.

Not that he wasn’t above some pro-pureblood ideas himself, but Granger had always, infuriatingly, proved those ideas wrong, and had turned out to be a better ally that he originally thought. He had found out the hard way that torturing and killing Muggles and Muggleborns was just not his cup of tea, and in fact, the thought of terrorizing people for something they couldn’t control downright made him feel ill.

He wandered to the other side of the little shop, browsing at the small selection of books and cauldrons, far more expensive than what Flourish and Blotts or the Cauldron Shoppe offered, but there were a few interesting and rare titles. He grabbed a package of sterile phials and jars, realising his need to store his potions in something, once made. He re-approached the bench and asked what the total was, paying the arguably dark wizard his sum, and asking that his purchases be wrapped in a box for safe travelling. Then he left the Apothecary as quickly as he could, wanting to wash away the feeling of association with the man inside and knowing it was useless. People would always associate the Malfoys with dark magic.

That was, not unless Draco Malfoy had anything to say about it.

***

The chime rung for the door and Draco ignored it. He was in the middle of counting stirs with his spoon, lost once again this week within his N.E.W.T.-level studies. He’d hardly done more than read and create potions and sleep; his mother had to bring him food, and lots and lots of tea. He felt like he’d drunk more tea in the last week than had been dumped in that bay in America during the Yankee Tea Party of...well, it was a Muggle thing, anyhow. How was he supposed to know when it happened? At least his mother knew when to switch to chamomile, so he could actually sleep at the end of the day. Though he usually fell asleep at his desk with his head on his books and a quill fallen sideways in his hand, waking with a crick in his neck and ink on his face, so he wasn’t sure that was much better.

The door chimed again, and he called for his mum. “Mother! I’m in the middle of something, could you get that?”

He heard his mother float down the hall. “Mind your manners, Draco,” she said as she passed by the door to the drawing room, where he’d set up shop. As long as he didn’t scorch or otherwise tarnish the furniture, Draco’s mother didn’t mind that he practised his practical curriculum within the confines of their home.

“Mother, could you _please_ answer the door? I can’t leave my station at the moment, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and he heard a smile in her voice.

He heard her open the door and the murmuring of voices in the hall. The door closed, and two sets of footsteps approached the drawing room. His mother knocked lightly and leaned in. “Draco, you have a visitor.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, I can’t stop what I’m doing. It’ll be just a minute.” Just a few more stirs... There! He watched as his potion turned a sunshine-yellow, the exact colour an Elixir to Induce Euphoria should be.

“Draco,” his mother said, cutting into his elation.

His head snapped up and any exasperated comments he was about to make died upon seeing Potter standing beside his mother.

“Hi, Malfoy,” Potter said, tapping a rolled up parchment against one hand. He looked just like Harry, and it was unnerving. Except for the slightly cautious look in his eyes. Harry was never cautious with Draco.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Narcissa said, backing quietly out of the room and closing the door softly behind her.

“Potter. To what do I owe the displeasure?” he said, finding his voice. He wiped his hands on a tea towel and set up a few phials to receive the potion he’d just finished.

Smirking a little at Draco’s scathing remark, Potter stepped further into the room and approached Draco. “I came to say ‘hello’.”

“You’ve already done that. Goodbye.”

“Malfoy-”

“If you don’t have official Auror business, Potter, I’d like it if you’d leave. I would prefer it if we kept our personal lives separate, if you don’t mind.” He picked up his cauldron to start pouring.

Potter had a look on his face that Draco thought said that he rather _did_ mind, but Potter’s only reply was, “Actually, I _do_ have official Auror business. I thought you might like this.” He handed Draco the parchment he’d been holding.

Draco set the cauldron down and took the parchment, making sure not to touch Potter’s hand in the process. It had the Ministry Seal. Oh no.

Swallowing, he broke open the seal, a million thoughts running through his head as he unfurled the parchment. Maybe they’d found his father, dead. No – that wouldn’t make sense; they would have sent word to his mother, not him. Maybe he’d been rejected for the Auror Training Program. Maybe they wanted to detain him because someone had seen him talking to the Apothecary worker the other day and assumed it was dark magic related. Maybe...

Maybe they wanted to accept him into the Auror Training Program, which is exactly what it said.

Draco looked up at Potter, who was grinning. “Congratulations, Malfoy.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Draco asked. “You were the one that convinced Robards.”

Potter shrugged. “I think he just got tired of my letters.”

“But...you don’t know me. At all. Why would you bother?”

Potter shrugged again. Harry did that, too. It must be a genetic twitch of some kind. Draco frowned as Potter said, “I thought you might want to put your skills in transfiguration and charms to good use.”

“I could take those skills anywhere, Potter. And how would you know how good I am at those anyhow?”

“Well, you made some rather ingenious – obnoxious, but ingenious – things in school that I remember require a rather good handle on transfiguration and charms. I figured, even if you didn’t make Auror, I could convince Robards to let you work minor cases for the M.L.E. Or maybe get you an in somewhere else, like St. Mungo’s. You’re good at Potions, right?”

“I’m good at everything, Potter.”

“Well, there you are, then.”

“Well, thanks for delivering this,” Draco said, setting the letter from Robards on the table. It had also said he needed to test out of his N.E.W.T.s... _Exceeds Expectations_ , was required at the least for him to be allowed in the program officially. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

“I could help,” Potter said. “You’re going to have to pass a lot of other tests besides your N.E.W.T.s, before you get on to the rest of your training.”

“I don’t need your help, Potter.”

“Draco, I just-”

“Don’t call me that. _You_ don’t get to call me that.”

Potter held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Sorry. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” Potter turned and walked to the door.

“Potter?”

Potter turned around, a light of expectancy in his eyes, and he almost looked like Harry. Almost.

“When I make it through this program, I want it to be clear that you and I will be co-workers, but that is it. I will address you as such, and I will request that we not work directly together. I think it would be for the best.”

Potter pressed his lips together. It was an altogether determined sort of look, and Draco wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Okay, Malfoy. If that’s what you want.”

“That is what I want.”

“I’ll just...let myself out.”

Draco watched Potter go with a weird sort of longing detachment.  He normally had an easy time compartmentalising his emotions, but at seeing Potter, he immediately thought of Harry, and that brought up all kinds of thoughts and feelings, and so Draco played aloof as well as he was able. Sighing, he picked up his acceptance letter.

It said that he was responsible for arranging to take his N.E.W.T.s with the Wizarding Examinations Authority, and that they were to be taken no less than seven days prior to his first entrance exam, so that his marks could be forwarded to the M.L.E. in ample time for a final decision to be made. That basically meant he was at the mercy of his ability to memorize great tombs of information, and of the wizard overseeing the exams. It helped that he had all of the time in the world to study.

He finished pouring and stopping the phials of Euphoria Elixir and took up the letter, off to find his mother to tell her the news.

***

Draco’s exams came and went a week later, and Draco felt it was rather cruel for them to make him wait until he got official word from Robards as to whether or not he’d passed at the required levels. He tried to distract himself with books, and entreating his mother into helping him practise some of the defensive and offensive spells he might need to know while training as an Auror, but he still sat around the hearth at night, his knee bouncing with his nerves. The scotch only made it worse.

The day he finally received word, he helping his mother tend to the gardens on the rare day they had decent weather. The letter arrived by owl this time, and Draco almost tore it in half breaking the seal. Upon seeing the words, “ _We are proud to accept you into our Auror Training Program..._ ” Draco let out a “whoop!” and picked up his mother into a hug, twirling her around.

“I got in! I got in!” He said, setting her back on her feet, grinning.

“Oh, Draco, I’m so happy for you,” Narcissa said, putting her gloved hands on his cheeks and kissing him chastely. “Does it say when you start?”

“Monday. I’m to report in Monday. I have to be ready for anything, Mother. I got in, but I have to pass the aptitude tests first before I spend the next three years training to be an Auror.”

“How long does that take?”

“A week, I think. It might depend on how many people they’ve accepted.”

“Oh, Draco, I’m very proud. I do wish your father were here to see you, growing up so fast.” She smiled at him, and it was a little sad. Fixing his collar, she said, “Come on, let’s go inside and change. I’m taking you out tonight to celebrate.”

***

“He got in,” Harry said, sitting down across from Hermione, his lunch in hand, without so much as a ‘hello’.

“Who got in what, Harry?” she asked, rolling her eyes, though she probably knew full-well who and what he was talking about. It was always on his mind.

“Draco. He got into the A.T.P.” Harry opened his lunch sack and pulled out a peanut butter and jam sandwich that looked like it had seen better days. A small bag of crisps followed.

“Are you really going to eat that?” she asked, eyeing it over her reports. It’s amazing what she could get done when fighting with Ron wasn’t a distraction, and neither was trying to help wayward friends find their way back through inter-dimensional portals. Though she still had that one stowed away for a rainy day when she could look into the phenomenon with a more scrutable eye.

Harry shrugged. “It’s edible.”

“How long has it been since you made it?”

Harry shrugged. “I think I made it yesterday, and forgot about it. Freeman and I got caught up in some nonsense involving a misbehaving broom. I can’t wait until my third year is over. This simple rookie stuff is beyond boring.”

“Well, you have to do it now so you can appreciate it later when all you’re doing is tracking down dark magic and having your life hanging in the balance every day.”

“Having my life under constant threat was more fun than this.”

“Harry, don’t complain.”

“Sorry.”

“So – Malfoy’s in the Auror Training Program. That’s... That’s good. I think he’ll be a great asset.”

Hermione watched as Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, me too.”

“Harry, you didn’t... You didn’t do anything to make sure Malfoy got in, did you?”

“What?” Harry asked around a mouth of peanut butter, jam, and bread. He swallowed. “No, of course not. He had to pass his N.E.W.T.s. That was all him, Hermione. I couldn’t have rigged that if I tried. Besides, I told you, he doesn’t want my help.”

“Harry, I know you care about him.”

“So?”

“So... Maybe you’re hanging onto some hope that he’ll care for you too. I’m not saying it won’t ever happen, I just... I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hermione sighed. “I think Malfoy doesn’t want you to help him because it makes him think about the other Harry.”

“I don’t... I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Hermione.”

“Malfoy and Harry...they... Well, they seemed to get quite close in the short time he was here. And, I know that they shared, er...a kiss. They shared a kiss. Harry didn’t mean for it to happen, apparently. He has always had feelings for his own Malfoy, but I guess alcohol was involved, and-”

“I already know, Hermione.”

“What?”

“He told me. In his letter. He told me what happened.”

“Oh. I see.”

“I don’t like Draco because of the other one. I mean, I... Well, I wouldn’t say I fancied him before I left, I just... I had started to realise...”

“That you like guys?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I suspected as much.”

“You did?”

“Yes. When there was no real ascertainable reason for you and Ginny to have broken up, I thought maybe it really wasn’t about Ginny at all. There were only so many conclusions to be made with the information I had.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I’m pretty obvious, then.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Ron never suspected until I mentioned something to him before you got back. I’m just very astute.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, placing crisps in his mouth and chewing almost as if he didn’t want to break the silence.

“So,” Hermione said when she shouldn’t stand the crunching anymore, “you fancy Malfoy.”

“I... Yes, I suppose.” When Hermione just waited patiently for him to elaborate, he followed with, “He’s actually rather funny, you know. I noticed that, before I left. He uses words as a defence mechanism, but if you don’t take him seriously, you realise it’s just sarcasm.”

“I’ve noticed that, too.”

“Oh, you have?” Harry looked relieved. “When I was back in the other world, having him as an actual friend, it – well, it was nice, actually.  And you and he got along really well, too.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“He’s a lot different around friends. He’s not as angry. He smiles more. And not in that way that’s superior. You know, like an honest smile.”

“Harry,” Hermione started, fiddling with the quill in her hands, “do you think you and Malfoy will be friends here?”

Harry shrugged. “I... I don’t know. He still seems to hate me.” He put his sandwich down. “Hermione, I bugged Robards for weeks, trying to get him to let Malfoy in the program. It was just...kind of sad, almost, watching Draco just drink and be angry and never try and take advantage of the pardon I had got for him. Well, it kind of pissed me off, actually.”

“So you decided to harangue Robards into letting him into the Auror Program?”

“I thought he might be good at it. He managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, and make those buttons that said “Potter Stinks” on them back in school... He’s _smart_ , Hermione. He could be doing more with his life than waiting for it to happen to him.”

Hermione sat back in her chair. After a few moments she said, “Maybe just give him some more time, Harry. He doesn’t think you and the other Harry are the same person. He still sees you as the obnoxious Auror that comes over far too often to ask about his father, which I know you know he doesn’t have any information about, and has never gotten to see the side of you that the other Harry showed him. He feels like he just lost a friend, and he’s not ready to let you replace him just yet. So maybe just...give it time. Let him concentrate on Auror Training. Let him get comfortable with the idea that you’ll be working in the same department, and seeing each other quite often. Besides,” she said, reaching forward to nip a crisp, “You don’t know this Draco, either.”

Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth. After a moment he appeared to file what she said away and decided to change the subject. “So how did Ron take the news? That I’m gay?”

Hermione laughed. “How do you think?”

“At least he’s still speaking to me,” Harry replied, popping a crisp into his mouth with a smile.

***

The chilly rain and icy winds of November cut through Draco’s robes without much resistance. He and the other six recruits were all standing out in a field outside Dorchester, in their second hour of “Element Endurance” training. Essentially, they were required to withstand whatever Mother Nature wanted to throw at them, and whatever spells their Training Officer wanted to throw at them as well.

The program had started with ten of them, but three didn’t make it past the aptitude tests. Draco almost didn’t pass the physical endurance portion, having sat around on his bum for the better part of two years. But thankfully, he had kept up with his Quidditch regime in the few weeks before his training began, and although he didn’t fly, it had helped tremendously. He had been testing and trying that regime for the last few weeks, as their Training Officer had been putting them through the ringer, using every physical and mental torture known to man and wizard, Draco was sure, just to see if he could make them drop like flies. It was like the man got a sick pleasure out of watching one of his recruits fail.

Evans, a recruit a few down the line, couldn’t quite dodge the stinging hex Auror Macreary sent his way, and he cried out, falling to his knees in the mud, clutching his arm.

“Is that all it takes to bring you to your knees, Evans?” Macreary bellowed over the wind and rain. “A dark wizard will be more than happy to cast the Killing Curse at you as a ‘hello’, and there’s no recovery from that! On your feet!”

Evans struggled to his feet, and Draco fought off a shiver and brought his stare resolutely forward, bracing himself for anything. Macreary would Apparate around them, and sometimes from too great a distance to see in the rain, fire off a hex or curse, with little more than the light of the spell to tell you what you needed to combat it. Not every spell could be blocked by a standard shield charm.

A small beam of yellow out of the corner of his eye was all Draco had as a warning, and he spun around, throwing up a blocking charm behind him and Mulfich’s back, the wizard standing next to him. Mulfich had a begrudgingly thankful look on his sallow face once he realised what had happened, and tried not to meet Draco’s eyes.

“Malfoy! So honourable of you to save your fellow recruit!” Macreary said, walking around from behind them. Macreary was a bear of a man, and the only visible ‘battle scar’ he had was a jagged line that ran from his hairline, through his beard, to his clavicle. “If you want to stay alive in this job,” he said to everyone, “you must not only rely on yourself and your own instincts, but you must treat your partner as if they were your brother – ‘cause they’re the only ones that will have your back out in the field. Good job, Malfoy.”

“Sir.”

An hour later, they were relieved of their training, on a small break to return home and see their families for the weekend. As Macreary had said, “Dark magic doesn’t wait for you to be ready for it! Be lucky for your break. You won’t get many in this line of work. Dismissed!”

The other recruits Apparated back to London immediately, relief on their faces. Draco stayed behind a moment.

“Recruit Malfoy, I’d like to get home to the wife and kids I never see.”

“Yes, sir. I was just curious, sir, where and when to report on Monday? You didn’t mention.”

Macreary smiled. It was a little disquieting. “You’re the first recruit I’ve had in almost three years to ask me that. That’s a good thing, Malfoy,” he said, when Draco’s look of uncertainty betrayed him. “Means you’re paying attention. It also means you’re a bit of a kiss-arse, but that’s okay. This is an unrewarding job, training you lot, and I don’t mind a little less stupid in my ranks. Report to the secretary in the M.L.E. headquarters, seven A.M. sharp.”

“Yes, sir.” Macreary started to turn away, but Draco’s next question stopped him. “If I may ask, sir, who was the last recruit to ask you where to report to?”

Macreary smiled that fear-inspiring smile again, and said off-handed, “Just Auror Potter.”

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

“’Welcome, Malfoy. Now, go. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”

“Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.” Draco watched Macreary Apparate, then looked around the empty field for a moment, taking stock in his situation. He’d almost not had any time to process that he was in the thick of it, that he was really training to be an Auror. But he was only a month in. Macreary was right. He had a lot of work ahead of him.

He Apparated back to the Training House, a ramshackle building in Dorset that held the recruits for most of the duration of their first year. This was the first weekend they were allowed to go back home in a month. They spent most evenings utterly exhausted, or reading over material, and even practising spells, charms and techniques whenever possible. He had barely the energy to write his mother a letter, and he could only wonder what she thought was happening to him.

He took off his sodden training robes before cleaning and drying them, cleaned his shoes and his under garments, then put them back on, wanting to look his best for his mum. He grabbed his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder before turning to his bunk mates and wishing them a good weekend, then left, Apparating to the drive just outside the Manor.

He entered the house, calling out. “Mum? Mother? I’m home!”

There was a clatter of silverware against china, and his mother came hurrying out of the dining hall, her dark blue robes and silvery hair flowing behind her. “Draco! Oh, dear, I was so worried!” She embraced him in a hug which he returned, not wanting to let go. The scent of her lavender vanilla perfume relaxed him, and he felt the most normal he had in weeks.

Narcissa pulled away and looked at him from arms length. “Look at you, in your Auror robes,” she said.

“Training robes, actually.”

“Well, you look dashing. Except the dirt on your face,” she said, rubbing a thumb over a spot on his cheek.

“Mum!” he said, ducking from her mothering with a smile. “Sorry, I wanted to be all clean for you when I arrived, but today was rather gruelling. I must have forgot to wash my face.”

“And your hands. But that’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home. How long is your stay?” she asked as she looped her arm in his and guided him to the dining hall.

“Just the weekend. I have to report back first thing Monday.”

“I do wish you’d write more. I’m always worried I’m going to hear terrible news.”

“They’re not going to kill me, Mum. They may try, but the whole point is to train me so that I don’t, right? They need the officers. I doubt they’d try to kill off their best recruit when his training’s just started.” He sat down next to her at the table, setting his bag on the floor. “But I’m sorry I don’t write more often. I’m so utterly exhausted by the end of it all, I pretty much fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

“Poor dear. Are you hungry? I have some extra.”

“Famished.”

“Here, have mine, I only just started. I’ll go fetch you some tea, you look like you’re catching cold,” she said as she left the room.

“I was in the rain for two hours today,” Draco said as he all but shoved a rather large mouthful of mash in his mouth.

“Good gracious, what on earth for?” he heard her call from the kitchen.

“A variety of reasons. Physical endurance, adverse weather training, spell dodging,” he said after he swallowed. Oh, filet mignon. His mother was a goddess. He started cutting.

As his mother re-entered the room with a tray of tea and another plate of food, he said, “Mother, this is the best meal I’ve had in a month. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome, dear. Now, tell me all about your training.”

***

Draco had all but collapsed into his bed that evening, and slept like the dead until late morning. It was the best sleep he had got all month, what with the constant threat of midnight “raids” and the early mornings and late nights of rigorous training.

When he woke, there was a letter from his mother on the kitchen counter, that she had gone off to tea with some of the “ladies of society” and that she would be back later in the afternoon to spend time with him. Left to fend for himself, he noted the time and decided to go out for breakfast. Well, what would actually be lunch, by the time he got there.

He dressed nicely but warmly, and Apparated to an alley just a few blocks away from the Blacksmith and the Toffeemaker. Kyle greeted him with a bright smile, and asked where the hell he’d been.

“Working, actually,” Draco said, taking a stool at the bar.

“Working? I thought you were a gentleman of leisure.”

Draco shrugged. “Being leisurely was boring. Decided to become a bobbie,” he said, not-quite-fibbing. “It requires training, as you might imagine, so that’s where I’ve been.”

“A copper, aye? Well, I’ll remember that, next time I’m thinking of double parking while running in for a pack of fags.”

“I wouldn’t worry about me. I doubt I’ll be patrolling these parts.”

“What about Soho? That’s where my flat is.”

“We’ll see,” Draco said, smiling secretively. “Can I have the usual?”

“Of course. Coming right up, Constable Malfoy.”

“I’m not the police yet!” he called after him.

“You will be soon, though,” a voice said from behind him.

Draco jumped and turned to see Potter standing a few paces off to the left.

“Potter, what are you doing here?” Draco said, looking around as if someone might recognise them. Which, of course, they didn’t, which is why he came here in the first place. Thankfully, Potter was also dressed like any other Muggle, but Draco supposed as he was raised by them, he knew better than most how to go about blending in.

“Just thought I’d stop by and say hello. See how your training’s going,” he said, sitting on the stool next to Draco’s.

“This interest in my welfare is touching, really, but how did you find me? I come here _not to be found_ ,” Draco said, lowering his voice.

Potter smiled and said to Kyle, who had returned to the bar and placed Draco’s ale in front of him, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“The plate, as well?”

“Sure, why not?”

“ _Potter_.”

Potter waited until Kyle set an ale down in front of him and walked away. “You’re not going to like this, but you have a tracking charm on the back of your neck. I used it to track you down. Knew you’d be in town, since it’s your first free weekend.”

“I...have _what_?” Draco said, putting a hand to the back of his neck, as if he’d feel something there.

“A tracking charm. Don’t worry, it’s only during training, really. Then you can elect to take it off once you’re an officer. It’s a good thing to have though, you know, in case you go missing.”

“Like you did? Nobody noticed it then.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly go missing, did I?”

“I’m sorry?” Draco was really hating the way this conversation was going. Potter was still here, talking, for one.

“I left, and immediately Harry arrived. Besides, no one ever bothers activating the charm if you’re not actually missing.”

“I’m not missing.”

Potter shrugged and took a sip of his ale. “I took some liberties. Plus, Hermione told me you frequented this place before.”

“Okay, so that explains how you found me, but not why you decided to find me. I told you, I didn’t want to see you outside of work.”

“I thought maybe you’d have softened your stance on that.”

“And why would I do that?”

“’Cause you miss me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, I know you do, you see, because I miss him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You miss Harry. I miss Draco. It’s okay. It’s confusing, but we’re not all so different. I want to at least call a truce. Be friends. Something other than this cordial co-worker bullshit.”

“Too bad, Potter. I don’t really care what you want.”

“You’re not even going to try? It’s been two months, Draco.”

“Don’t call me that. And no, it’s been only been fifty-three days.”

Potter sighed and stayed silent, which was thankfully when Kyle arrived with their meals. Potter immediately started eating his, and Draco picked at his chips. His stomach was tight; he was hungry, very much so, but he couldn’t eat with Potter sitting right there.

“I’m not asking you to forget about him,” Potter said. “Just to...let me in, too. Is that really so hard?”

“With you? Yes.”

“What did the other Harry do to get behind those walls, Malfoy? What’s the point in building a fortress around yourself if it only makes you end up alone?”

“I rather like it. It keeps the obnoxious people out.”

“God, you’re so damn stubborn.”

“Yeah, but apparently you like that sort of thing,” Draco said, casting out some bait. He picked up his burger and bit into it, his stomach’s knots slowly slipping away as he felt more in control.

Potter bit into a chip and smiled. “I do.”

At the familiar response, Draco cast a sidelong glance in his unwanted lunch companion’s direction. _Dammit, Harry_.

They ate in silence for a few moments, then Potter said, “Why do you want to be an Auror, Malfoy?”

“What?”

“Why do you want to be an Auror?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Potter wiped his mouth with his napkin. At least he had _some_ manners, unlike Weasley. “I want to be an Auror because I’m _good_ at handling myself in a situation. I’ve dealt with Dark Magic my entire life – heck, I’ve even died because of it – and I’m still here. It’s destroyed a lot of people I love... I can’t see myself do anything else. It’s what I’m good at, and I know I can help people. But what about you? Why do you want to be an Auror?”

“My reasons are my own, Potter,” Draco said, trying to evade the question.

“Malfoy, if you’re going to get through training, if you’re going to survive this job and do it well, it _has_ to be for more than just the love of someone you only knew for a week. It has to mean everything to you. People die or are cursed irreparably because of this job.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not doing it because of anyone. And who said anything about love?”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, it wasn’t like he had anything to do with it anyway. Besides, he wasn’t the reason. Not the only reason. I’m doing it for _lots_ of reasons.”

“Okay.”

“What, you’re not going to pry?”

“Nope. I just...wanted to make sure you understood what you were really getting yourself into.”

“I do. Thanks for the unwanted concern.”

They sat for a few moments, in awkward silence while Potter polished off his plate and drank the last of his ale. He stood, grabbing his coat. “I think I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” he said to Draco. “Just...think about what I said? I’ll come see you when more of your training’s completed.”

“I really don’t want you to.”

“I know. I don’t care.”

Draco blinked at Potter’s audacity. “So that’s it? I say I don’t want to see you, and you say ‘I don’t care’ like that’s the end of it?”

“I’m harder to get rid of than you think.”

“Clearly. I’ve been trying to be rid of you my whole life.”

“You loved torturing me in school and you know it.”

“It’s no fun if you _enjoy_ it, Potter.”

“Then you clearly haven’t thought this through,” Potter said, leaving a few notes on the table. “I’ll pay for his, too,” he said to the barkeep. “Later, Draco.”

“Don’t call me that, Potter.” But he watched Potter go with a perplexed stare and the beginnings of...something like fondness. Maybe just curiosity. Yes, curiosity was safe, right?

“Old boyfriend?” Kyle said, reaching for Potter’s plate and glass.

“Er...no. Old enemy. I think.”

“Well, I think he means to change that. If you want my opinion.”

“Yes, I do think that’s what he aims to do.” Draco finished off his plate and ale and stood. “Thanks, Kyle. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Draco.”

Draco left the B and the T and decided a nice brisk walk was in order before returning home. He wandered around the City University’s campus, watching students hustle between classes, and realised that though it wasn’t that long ago, he felt like ages had come and gone since his time at Hogwarts. Ages since he’d been a prefect, ages since he’d made those dumb “Potter Stinks!” buttons, ages since Potter first snubbed him on the train.

He was a working adult, now. Well, an in-training, working adult, but he was making a wage, and _doing_ something with his life, and he no longer felt like he could hide behind his family’s dishonour anymore. So what had made him let Harry behind those walls – his fortress, Potter called it – but wouldn’t let Potter in, too?

_They weren’t the same_ , Draco’s mind supplied.

Maybe that was just a lie, he told himself, because Potter was turning out to be just as persistent as Harry had been.

Potter was an idiot, though. His interest in Draco’s life was entirely based on seeing “Potter-friendly” Draco on the other side, and acted as though Draco should be interested in getting to know him because of Harry. Well, he didn’t. He was perfectly fine not knowing Potter at all.

Plus, Draco was training to be an Auror for _lots_ of reasons, like he said. There was his mum, for one. His family’s tarnished name, for another. It wasn’t just because Harry had kept pressing the issue; kept making Draco feel like it was _possible,_ when he thought it never would be.

_It wasn’t Harry who wrote those letters,_ his brain oh-so-helpfully supplied again.

So what? It was Potter. So he and Harry had the same ideas. They were _kind of_ the same person. They were both Aurors, and persistent idiots, and had the same mouth...

Draco shook his head. They weren’t completely the same, though. Harry thought Draco _mattered_. Potter just...wanted everyone to like him; worship him like some god or something.

Well, he wasn’t going to get that from Draco. Potter wouldn’t be receiving any kind of brain-washed adoration from any Malfoy, ever. Not if Draco could help it.

Draco, feeling much better about the afternoon, went home to spend the rest of the weekend with his adoring mother, whom he knew would agree.

Draco _would_ matter to the Wizarding World. And he would do it without Harry Potter’s help.

***

Another month went by in almost no time, and yet it felt like an eternity until he was able to see his mother again. It was the day before Christmas Eve, the first day of the recruits’ one week off – lucky they were to have started training mid-winter. Assuming you could count doing gruelling and sometimes rather insane physical activity in the middle of winter lucky.

Draco had returned home to warm hugs and hot cocoa, and a hint of snow in the air. It didn’t always snow very much in Wiltshire, but the bite in the air and the grey clouds overhead bespoke the truth of what was to come. And if it happened in Wiltshire, more than likely, it’d be happening in Dorset, too. Well, that would be lovely.

Draco was home for perhaps only an hour or two, regaling his mother with training stories and taking a much needed kip on the sofa when the door chimed.

“If that is Potter, I’m going to hex him within an inch of his life,” Draco mumbled. His mother chuckled from her place in the armchair nearby.

“Well, if it is Potter, you might as well get it,” she said, turning the page in her book. “He’s not here to see me.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Draco said, rolling graciously off the sofa to his feet. He walked out into the foyer and wrenched open the door, not bothering to try and see who it might be first.

“Potter, go away,” Draco said, and went to close the door. Potter stopped it with his hand.

“Draco, wait.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Look, I just wanted to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you. I’ve barely been on holiday for more than a few hours...can’t I have a moment of peace?”

“Hermione told me that you and I, or rather, the other Harry, had been getting on, playing Quidditch and hanging out and such, and I just thought we might talk about...about what had happened.”

“What for? As you just so clearly stated, that wasn’t you. So we don’t have anything to talk about.” Draco slammed the door in Potter’s face, and started to walk away.

The door flew open, and Potter stepped in, that annoyingly frustrated scowl on his face. Like he had any right to be frustrated with Draco; the bastard had just forced his way into Draco’s house! “Goddammit, Malfoy, I’m trying to start a conversation here,” he said as he stormed toward Draco.

Draco quickly back stepped. “I don’t _want_ to have a conversation, or has my obvious avoidance of you slipped under that irritatingly dim perception of yours? Get out of my house!”

“No.”

Potter stepped forward again, to take advantage of Draco, no doubt, but it only resulted in them grabbing onto each other’s clothing and wrestling for dominance; Draco trying to push Potter toward the door, and Potter appearing to try and shake some sense into Draco. But Draco had plenty of sense. He was better off with believing that Potter was as big an arse as he’d been before. Talking wasn’t going to change that fact.

“Don’t touch me!” Draco said, pushing against Potter’s hold on his arms.

Potter had gotten in close in their struggle; he said lowly, “I know what happened. That he kissed you.”

Draco’s face twisted up in an angry glare. “That’s no business of yours!”

Potter, though being a few inches shorter, was perhaps somehow a bit stronger, or perhaps had taken advantage of Draco’s momentary shock of memory and used his leverage to pin Draco against the wall by his wrists.

“It _is_ my business. Because every time you think of him, you think of me, too. And I know that’s true, because it’s the same for me.”

“W-what? What are you on about?” Draco said, trying to push Potter off of him, but he was close. Too close. Almost touching. Potter’s hot, quick breath was on Draco’s cheek, and Draco had to turn away from the intensity of his stare.

“Draco, look at me.”

Draco closed his eyes briefly, then turned to glare again at Potter. “ _Don’t call me that._ ”

“I’m trying to _tell_ you something, here. Why don’t you start listening? Or are you so blinded by your hatred of me, you can’t even grant me that?”

Draco pressed his lips together. “I don’t want to grant you shit, Potter. You haven’t earned it.”

“Then why not let me try?” Then Potter leaned forward and pressed his lips against Draco’s.

I was just as unexpected as the first time; an awkward pressing of mouths before Draco automatically responded a half-second later, tilting his head and inadvertently pushing Potter’s glasses out of the way at the same time. Potter took this as encouragement, but his mistake came when he took his right hand away from holding Draco’s arm to possess his cheek.

That was when Draco pushed him away and swung.

Potter made a grunt of surprise, but didn’t fall to the ground, much to Draco’s chagrin. Potter’s glasses did fall to the floor and cracked, though, when Draco’s fist landed across his mouth and nose. Potter stood there, holding his face for a moment, assessing. Pulling his hand away, Draco saw blood on his mouth, but his nose appeared to be fine.

“You don’t get to do that, either,” Draco spat, flexing his hand. Punching people in the head rather hurt.

Touching his lip gently, Potter pulled away his fingers to look at the blood. As he bent down to retrieve his now cracked specs, he chuckled ruefully under his breath. “I guess I deserved that.” He took out his wand and repaired his glasses before putting them back on his face, ignoring his swelling, bloody lip. “I’m not very good at explaining myself,” he confessed, smiling painfully.

Draco was nonplussed. “Clearly.”

Potter put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a Golden Snitch. He activated it and let it go for just a second before catching it with the other hand. “Want to play?” he asked.

“ _No_ , I do not. You’re not here on official Auror business, which means you’re trespassing. Leave.” Draco pointed to the door.

The Snitch struggled in Potter’s grip like a frightened bird. “I just thought you and I should put some stuff behind us...start off on a better foot.”

“Kissing someone unasked is hardly the way to go about that, Potter.”

“Yeah, and I can explain that. But I came over here because I thought it might help next week.”

“What’s next week?”

“When I become your training officer.”

“Excuse me? Since when?”

“Since we do rotations. I mean, I’m still just a rookie, but since I’ve had some rather unique experience in the area of Dark Arts Defence, they wanted me to come train you all for a week. All the Aurors all get to take turns training new recruits, though. I thought it might be easier in class if you and I weren’t at odds.”

“That doesn’t explain the kissing.”

“I’ll explain the kissing later.” Potter let go of the Snitch and caught it again. “Sure you don’t want to play? Work out all that unnecessary aggression?”

Draco swallowed. Just watching Potter fiddle with the Snitch brought back memories. He hadn’t been up since that last time...right before Harry left.

“I’d hardly call my aggression toward you unnecessary,” Draco said, but it had no bite.

Potter smiled, and that, _that right there_ , was when Draco thought that Harry might be right. They _were_ alike.

Dammit.

“I’ll beat you, Potter,” Draco said, heading for the stairs. “I beat him, and I’ll beat you. Stay put,” he ordered, and climbed the stairs rapidly, but not two at a time; he didn’t want to appear eager or anything. Potter didn’t need to know that he’d only won out of pure luck and the fact that Harry was momentarily distracted by Draco nearly falling to his death, but that was neither here nor there.

Coming back downstairs, Draco said as he swung around the end of the banister and picked up his forlorn broom near the garden doors, “You have your broom, right? I’m not waiting around for you.”

Potter trotted up behind him. “Yep. It’s right here,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket and enlarging it.

They reached the field, and without preamble Draco mounted his broom and took flight; not caring if Potter was ready to follow or if he’d released the Snitch yet. He appeared just seconds later, however, and circled around the field, seeming to get a feel for the space before meeting Draco a few metres higher.

“I’m surprised you don’t have an actual official-sized pitch set up out here,” Potter said.

“My mother never approved of my flying. She didn’t want to encourage me,” Draco found himself sharing.

“What does she think of you being an Auror? That’s just as dangerous, more so, even.”

Draco shrugged. “She thinks it’s good for me. For the family.”

“Those weren’t the only reasons, were they? I thought I told you-”

“I heard what you said to me. Stop asking questions and play the damn game.” Draco pushed his broom forward to distance himself from his opposition.

But Potter followed him and pressed his agenda. “Did your mum...did she know about the other Harry?”

Rolling his eyes, Draco replied, “Yes, Potter. She knew. They got on swimmingly, before you ask.”

“Oh.”

“And don’t think that gives you a free pass around here, either. I said she liked _him_.”

Potter held up a hand. “I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Whatever.”

“Draco-”

“ _Malfoy_.”

“Okay, _Malfoy_ , why are you trying to make this difficult? So, fine, I’m not _him_ , but you’re not _him_ either, if you get my meaning. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to...I dunno...get to know _you_ , you know?”

“No, Potter, I don’t know. Please leave me out of your sordid fantasies.”

Potter heaved a sigh but conceded and flew his broom to the other side of the impromptu pitch.

They crossed back and forth around the field, and Draco feinted a dive into the trees that Potter fell for, making Draco laugh at his expense. Potter just rolled his eyes and flew away, moping. It was sad, really, and not at all fun, like it had been, with Harry. Frowning, Draco followed him.

“Hey, Potter! This was _your_ idea. Why aren’t you putting any effort into it?”

“Because, Draco, you don’t want me here.”

“Then why the hell are we even playing?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Potter, whatever your agenda, the least you could do is give me some proper competition. I think I’ve had more fun watching a Crup gnaw on a bone in Knockturn Alley.”

Potter met Draco’s eyes across the divide between their brooms. “Alright,” he replied, nodding once.

“Okay, then.”

The moment Draco broke eye contact, Potter shot past him, a determined look on his face. Draco whipped his head around to see Potter going for a golden speck in the distance. _Dammit_.

He turned his broom around and took off after Potter and the Snitch. He was still a few metres behind when Potter’s hand closed over the Snitch, which seemed to just hang in mid-air as if waiting for Potter to come find it.

The frustration from never being able to beat Potter, never being able to give that git what he really deserved, it all coalesced into a blinding rage, and Draco threw himself off of his broom to tackle Potter down to the ground.

They were thankfully only a few feet from the grass, and Potter was almost able to keep them from falling too hard by keeping a grip on his broom, surprised as he was by Draco’s sudden attack, but still, they landed with a mirrored “oof!” and wound up in a tangle of limbs and weeds, their brooms landing amongst the grasses.

Draco only took a second to catch his breath before launching himself at Potter. He sat atop him, grabbing a hold of Potter’s robes and punching him across the mouth, the split lip from before breaking open again and blood, bright against Potter’s cheek, smeared over his knuckles. Letting out a cry of anger, Draco picked up Potter by the robes and shoved him into the ground. Potter wrapped his hands around Draco’s wrists, trying to push him off, but Draco held on tight, his adrenaline-racing heart making it hard for him to breathe. He weakly shoved Potter into the ground again before he collapsed, shaking, his head falling somewhere between Potter’s neck and chest. He breathed heavily, trying to calm himself and control the tremors in his body. He felt sick. What was he doing? He screwed his eyes shut. He was acting like a lunatic. _Oh, gods, and Potter smells a lot like Harry, too. Bloody hell._

He heard Potter whisper a healing spell and felt his head turn just before he spoke.

“It was easier...to kiss you,” Potter said, his breath still laboured from the flying, the fall, and the fighting.

Draco opened his eyes, blinking. Pushing himself upright, he said breathlessly, “What?”

Potter looked at him for a brief moment, then tried to avoid Draco’s confused gaze. “It was easier just to kiss you, earlier, than to tell you how I feel.”

Draco scrutinized Potter’s face for a moment, a smudge of blood still on his cheek.

So that meant...what? That Potter actually _fancied_ him? He’d hardly seen Potter since he got back. Did that mean he’d liked him since before...? When he’d kept coming over...?

Draco got angry again.

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Potter,” he said, releasing his hold on Potter’s robes and standing. He stalked a safe distance away. Wouldn’t do to kick Potter in the ribs and then have to explain why he’d assaulted a senior officer during a ‘friendly’ game of Quidditch. Draco couldn’t afford to have anything hinder his success as an Auror. Though Draco _had_ already punched him in the face. Twice. Somehow Draco felt that Potter wouldn’t say anything about those little transgressions.

Potter had sat up and was resting an elbow on a raised knee, wiping the blood from his face with a dew-stained hand. It had started misting, the rain coming down in a fine sheet. “I’ve seen...how you can be. When we don’t hate each other,” he said.

“I don’t care, Potter. This isn’t about how the other Harry and Draco are; this is about you, and me. And nothing that has ever happened between us has made me hate you less.”

Potter looked down at his hands. “So when Harry was here, you never got on? You never thought of him as someone you could call friend? He never told you how he felt? You can’t lie to me, Draco. He told me most of what happened in his letter.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Because what matters is how _you_ feel about it,” he said, standing and walking toward Draco.

Draco snorted. “How I _feel_ about it is none of your concern.”

“You liked him, didn’t you?”

“Gods, Potter, just leave it alone.”

“Because I can relate. I had to adjust to having you as a friend. It changed things. The way I see things now. How I feel about...things.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply when his mother’s voice stopped him.

“Draco! Draco!” Her voice was a little breathless and coming closer.

“Mum?” he called, moving swiftly to her when she broke through the weeds. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath and said a little more calmly upon seeing Potter behind him, “It’s your father. He’s returned.”

***

Draco and his mother sat outside Head Auror Robards’ office, waiting for some word about when they would be able to see Lucius. Draco was waiting rather impatiently, his knee bouncing up and down. Narcissa sat beside him, the picture of controlled poise. She placed a hand on his knee, and that stayed it for a moment, but it resumed its rhythmic  bounce shortly after she removed her hand.

Potter had gone inside Robards’ office right when they arrived, demanding Draco and his mother stay put until the situation could be ascertained. They had heard raised voices for a moment or two, then someone had cast a silencing charm on the office, and then there was nothing aside from the normal noise from the other cubicles.

Draco stood and started to pace, worrying his thumb with his teeth.

“Draco, sit down,” his mother said, and Draco noticed the lines of tension around her eyes and mouth. Just as Draco sat down, the office door opened, and Potter, Robards, and Minister Shacklebolt appeared.  Draco shot to his feet, questions on the tip of his tongue, when he noticed the scowl on Potter’s face, and Robards had that look that Draco had identified as the “bearer of bad news” look. Shacklebolt was stoic as ever.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, “Welcome to the M.L.E. I wish we were coming together today under better circumstances.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Where’s my father?” Draco said, spit-firing questions without pause in between.

“Auror Recruit Malfoy, it’s good to see you as well. I hear you’re doing well in the program.”

“Nevermind that. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Please come inside my office,” Robards said, holding out an arm in a welcoming gesture Draco was familiar with.

Draco, scowling, stalked into the room and threw himself into a chair. His mother came in silently, almost floating, and sat on the edge of the chair beside him.

Once the door was closed, Robards spoke, moving to sit behind his desk. “Mrs. Malfoy, your husband is safe. We currently have him in a holding facility where he is being taken care of.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Draco asked angrily.

“Draco,” his mother said gently, placing a hand over his to quiet him. “Auror Robards, you must understand what my family has been through in my husband’s absence. Just answer me this; how is my husband, and when can we see him?”

Draco saw a flash of regret pass over Robards’ features just before he started to speak. “Mrs. Malfoy, your husband has to be properly debriefed as to his whereabouts before we can allow you to see him.”

“This is complete bollocks!” Draco exclaimed, standing.

“Draco, please,” his mother said, closing her eyes briefly.

“Draco, it’s okay,” Potter started, stepping forward and reaching out a hand to no doubt comfort Draco.

Draco hit Potter’s hand away. “Don’t hush me, Potter! I know you’re pissed off! I can see it all over your face. Why don’t you _do_ something?”

“Look, Draco, there’s nothing we can do, okay? I tried. The Wizengamot is holding an emergency session right now to determine a best course of action. Until then, we have to wait.”

“We aren’t even allowed to _see him_?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Then what good are you?” Draco spat, and ignored the flinch the crossed Potter’s features before the git looked down.

“Draco,” his mother said sternly, “Control yourself.”

“You’re lucky I don’t suspend you for talking back to a superior officer, Draco,” said Robards. “But I understand that this isn’t easy. Why don’t you sit down, and we can continue?”

Draco bit his tongue and threw himself into his chair.

“When can we see him?” Narcissa asked.

“I can’t tell you. Not exactly,” Robards said. “But I estimate in about a couple of days. Your husband...hadn’t returned entirely unscathed.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“He’s being tended to by Healers from St. Mungo’s right now. I honestly don’t know much more than that. He could barely stand when he was apprehended.”

“I want to talk to the arresting Aurors,” Draco said. “I want to know what happened.”

“I’m sorry, Draco, but I can’t allow that just yet.”

Knowing better than to make another outburst and incur his mother’s wrath and possibly be written up by Robards, Draco stood and left the office without a word, slamming the door behind him. He was waiting at the lifts when Potter caught up with him.

“Draco-”

“You are the most idiotic, thick-skulled tosser I have ever had the displeasure to meet.”

“Er...”

“ _Stop calling me Draco_.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I just...”

“I don’t need your pitiful attempt at reassuring words, Potter.” The lift arrived, and Draco got in, his nemesis following. Rolling his eyes, he said, “And stop following me around like a lost dog. It’s pathetic.”

Potter stuck out his arm to keep the lift from leaving and turned to Draco, saying, “You know what, _Draco_? I’m getting really tired of you treating me like shit when your issue isn’t with me, it’s with the Ministry and your father. Grow up a little, will you? I’m not trying to fight with you. I’m trying to _help_ you. I just wish you’d get over yourself and realise it already.”

Harry Potter stalked out of the lift and back down the hall. Draco’s mother appeared at the end of the hallway, and Draco watched as Potter nodded when he passed, his mother returning the gesture. Sighing, Draco held the door.

Draco and Narcissa arrived home just after dusk, and the Manor greeted them coldly, a dark towering beast against the twilight sky. The inside was just as unwelcoming but Draco didn’t even bother turning on any lights before he made his way to the stairs. He stopped short of the first step when his mother called his name quietly, so he turned to look at her pale form in the darkness.

“Your behaviour today was unacceptable. You will issue a formal apology to Minister Shacklebolt, Head Auror Robards, and Auror Potter. Do you understand me?”

“Mum, I-”

“Do you understand me?” she repeated.

“I’m not twelve, Mother. Don’t treat me like a child.”

“Then stop acting like one!” she said, her voice raised slightly. She placed a hand to her stomach, breathing in deeply. She looked worn out, like an old tapestry. It pained Draco to see her so defeated.

“I understand.”

“Good. Before you go upstairs, I’d like you to bring me some tea in the study.”

“Yes, Mum.”

When Draco set the tea tray down next to his mum, she stopped his departure with a soft, cool hand on his wrist.

“I do hope you plan to reflect on your choices as of late,” she said.

Draco let out a breath. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

“You _always_ have a choice, Draco. One may only be less worse than the other, but there is always a choice. If that is the only wisdom I can impart on you before I die, then I know I will have done my job as your mother.”

Draco swallowed. Thoughts of his mother no longer living were not new, but they still made his throat close up and a prickling start behind his eyes.

“I will try to make better choices. To make you proud.”

“As long as you are happy and healthy. That is all I ask.”

“And that I don’t besmirch the family name.”

A small smile teased the corner of her mouth. “You make both your mother and father proud.” Draco squeezed her hand and the returned to his bedroom.

He spent a few moments at his desk composing thoughtful letters of apology to Robards and the Minister. When he pulled out a piece of parchment for Potter’s letter, he hesitated over the greeting, a drop of ink falling from the nib of his quill as he debated on what to say.

What _could_ he say? Both his mother and Potter pointed out how childish he’d been acting, and there were not small words of gestures that could mend his relationship with Potter, which Draco wasn’t even sure he wanted to mend in the first place.

Cleaning his quill and setting it back in its cradle, he stood and went downstairs to fetch his cloak before Apparating to Grimmauld Place. He could see it this time; there was no invisible Number Twelve, just a terribly shabby-looking house shoved roughly between numbers eleven and thirteen. He walked up to the door and knocked, bouncing a little on his toes as the cold seeped in.

Potter opened the door and Draco realised he still didn’t have anything to say.

“Hi, Malfoy,” Potter greeted stiffly.

“Hi, Potter.”

After a moment’s pause, Potter said, “Er...can I help you with something?”

“Um...yes. Yes. I came here to talk. To, er, apologise. For earlier.”

“Okay.”

They stood there for another moment, Draco looking awkwardly at anything but Potter; the unkempt shrubbery, the grimy windows, the moth-eaten rug under Potter’s feet. Just when Draco opened his mouth to ask if Potter was going to let him inside, Potter stepped aside and gestured with his head for Draco to enter.

“Thanks,” he said as he stepped over the threshold. “I have to admit that I thought you might make me leave my apologies at the door.”

“I almost did.” Potter closed the door and walked past Draco. “Come on,” he said, disappearing up the stairs.

Draco followed and eventually found himself in what looked like a drawing room, and in it, a wall adorned with a tapestry – his mother’s family tree – _his_ family tree. He noted his own name, and took in the scorch marks on others and raised an eyebrow.

“Your great grandmother’s idea of disownment,” Potter said from behind him.

Draco reached forward and touched the frayed ends of thread where Sirius Black’s name had been. “I never met my second cousin,” Draco said.

“He was a great man,” Potter said. “I’m not sure if you would have got on when he was alive...he probably would have thought you were just a spoiled prat, but, maybe now...”

Draco turned. “’Maybe now’ what? That I’ve ‘changed’? I haven’t changed, Potter. You have.”

Potter’s mouth quirked up in a smirk. “I’m not the one at my nemesis’ house apologising for something he said.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he gave Potter a scathing look. After a short moment where Potter’s infuriating smirk didn’t budge, Draco looked away, conceding. “Touché.”

Potter turned around on his heel and walked to the other side of the room where a cabinet stood. “Want something?”

“If you’re offering,” Draco said, going over to the lit hearth.

“You like scotch, right?”

Draco looked up. “How did you...? Oh. My other self.”

Potter nodded.

“How much do you think you know about me because of him?” Draco said, taking the glass Potter offered.

Potter shrugged. “I don’t assume I know anything. Do _you_ think you know everything about me because of the other Harry?”

Draco regarded Potter for a moment, unable to read his expression. “No. I don’t know anything about you.”

“And you’d prefer to keep it that way, right?”

Draco shrugged. This scotch was good. Nearly as good as his father’s own stores.

“Well, I’m not wrong,” Potter said. He set his glass up on the mantle and stepped so he was hovering close. “Draco, I don’t know what I’m doing, here,” he started.

Draco scoffed under his breath. “You’re definitely not wrong about that.”

Potter went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “But I think I’ve laid it all out on the table. I guess I was just hoping you’d meet me half-way.”

“Half-way to what, exactly?”

Potter leaned away and shrugged, looking into the fire. “I’ve told you. A truce. Friendship.”

“I don’t know how you expect it to be so easy, Potter.”

“Well, you were coming over here to apologise, so that’s a start.”

Draco set down his glass beside Potter’s and leaned an arm against the mantle. “It’s not...easy,” he started, looking into the fire, “to just try and redefine your self-identity and everything you’ve ever stood for and to change the way everyone sees you.”

“I’ve kind of learned that people are going to think whatever they want about you, regardless of what you do, so there’s no reason to try so hard. Who cares what they think?”

Draco shook his head. “Yes, but _you_ still saved the world, you see. People will gossip about your personal life because they're shallow and have nothing better to do, but in the end, all they care about is that you saved them. I don’t have that kind of leverage, Potter. I’m just a Death Eater’s son, from a dark family, who has the Mark himself.”

“And yet, you’re also an Auror-in-Training. That’s unheard of.”

“No small part on you.”

Potter shrugged. “It took me a while to realise it, but you deserve better than your parents’ legacy. Does that mean I think you’ve really just been a good guy underneath all this time? No, not really. But I _know_ you really didn’t want to hurt anyone, that you were only doing it to protect your family. _That’s_ all I need to know.”

“ _Why_ do you like me? I mean, that _is_ why we’re here, isn’t it? Harry Potter fancies Draco Malfoy.”

Potter looked down, and it was hard to tell in the firelight, but it looked like he was blushing.

Draco continued with, “I understand why the other Harry fancied Draco; they’re best friends, I’m me...but you and I? Us? I don’t get it.”

When Potter raised his head, his lower lip was caught between his teeth, and Draco watched as he worried that lip and then stuck out his tongue to sooth it. It wasn’t until Potter spoke that Draco realised he’d been staring rather intently at Potter’s mouth.

“I dunno. I just...it bothered me that you hadn’t really done anything since school... I wanted amnesty for you and your family because I wanted you to move on and leave all that...that hatred behind you.”

“That doesn’t explain why you split from the Weaselette and started liking blokes.”

“Things with Ginny were just...not right. Not for a long time.”

“So? Why suddenly like your childhood enemy? That doesn’t just happen, Potter.” Draco was getting a little frustrated at Potter’s lack of a reasonable explanation.

“I just like you, okay? Why are you questioning it?”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Feelings never make sense. That’s why we struggle to make good or bad choices. It’s life. It’s not supposed to be easy. Easy is boring.”

Draco thought about Potter’s words for a moment. Easy _was_ boring. That’s part of why becoming an Auror excited him. It’d never be boring, that’s for sure.

He knocked back the last of his scotch and stepped away from the hearth. “I should get going. I apologise for today. I was out of line.”

“I accept your apology, but Draco, you don’t have to leave.”

“I should. I want to. I have some things to take care of with Mother tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Goodnight, Potter.”

“Goodnight.”

Draco showed himself out, and noted the rain pouring down in London. Always raining. It may be snowing in Wiltshire by now, he thought.

It seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his life; it rained, and Harry Potter was his friend.

Draco frowned. He wasn’t sure if he could call Potter a friend...there was still just too much between them, and now _this_ , this confession of affection from Potter. Draco didn’t really know what to do with that information. It disarmed him; made him feel...not hostile, exactly, but not comfortable, either. And then Potter’s mouth...

Draco shook his already sodden head and Apparated home, where it was, indeed, snowing lightly.

Potter and his damnable mouth would have to wait. Draco was determined to have his father home for Christmas.

***

They received an owl late the next day; it was from Robards, and it stated that the Wizengamot had made a decision, and determining that Lucius was not an immediate threat or a flight risk, he could be released into his family’s care, provided that he be released back into custody for his trial, which was set for the first of the year.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Narcissa said, putting a hand to her chest. “Come on, Draco. They’re holding him at Azkaban.”

“Azkaban? I thought he was in some holding facility?”

“The dementors are gone, Draco. Azkaban is little more than a holding facility anymore.” Draco noted the grim line of her mouth, and put a comforting hand on her waist.

They Apparated to a landing point on the craggily rock of the island, and were greeted at the gate by Robards and a guard. “Mrs. Malfoy. Draco. I’m glad you’ll be able to spend Christmas with Mr. Malfoy.”

“We’re grateful,” Narcissa said, before Draco could make any remark on the bureaucracy of it all.

“I have to warn you,” Robards said as he led them into the prison and up a narrow staircase, “Your husband has been through quite an ordeal. He’s not the same man who left two years ago.”

“What does that mean?” Draco asked.

“It’s probably better if he explains it himself. But we’ve had some of the best healers from St. Mungo’s, and he’s much better off than when he arrived.”

Narcissa and Draco shared a worried look, and continued to follow Robards down a long passage. Robards turned, and stopped them in front of a door. “Okay, before you go in, I need you both to sign this. It states that Mr. Lucius Malfoy is being released into your care, and that you will not make any attempts to evade Magical Law Enforcement or otherwise keep the Wizengamot or any Ministry official from detaining Mr. Malfoy as they see fit, until such a time when he is to be released back into Ministry custody for his trial. After that, it’s up to the Wizengamot to determine whether or not he’s to be set free, or bound to time in Azkaban Prison for his crimes.”

Pursing her lips, but nodding, Narcissa signed the document, and handed over the quill to Draco. Draco looked it over, not wanting to be surprised by any shoddy wording. Satisfied, he signed the document and handed it over to Robards.

Robards’ smile was grim, but he took the document and opened the door to the room where they were keeping Lucius Malfoy.

The eldest Malfoy was laid up in a bed, his right leg in traction, white sheets seeming to almost float over his now too-thin body. His skin was pale; almost as pale as the sheets, and his beard was grown out a few inches, a little shaggy and a darker blond than the almost-white hair on his head.

“Father!” Draco said, shocked, rooted to the spot.

Lucius opened his eyes, and they were the same pale grey as the rest of him. “Draco.” His voice came out a little raspy, as if he’d been coughing for too long.

Narcissa rushed forward, coming to his side, taking his hand up in hers and kissing the back of it.”Lucius, my love. Oh, look at you...” Her eyes travelled down the length of his body.

“Narcissa,” Lucius said weakly.

Draco’s feet finally stumbled forward of their own accord. He came up to his father’s other side. “Father, what happened? Who did this to you?” Draco asked, looking at the guards and glaring.

“It wasn’t them, Draco,” Lucius said, reaching out a hand to Draco, who took it between both of his. It was rough, and ice cold. “I’ve just had a rather unfortunate run-in with some old...friends.”

“Friends? Friends wouldn’t do this to you,” Draco said, protesting, but his mother shushed him.

“Draco, please. We’ll talk about that later. First, let’s get your father home.” She looked to the Healer standing nearby. “Can he walk? What’s wrong with his leg?”

“It’s been broken in several places, ma’am. We were able to heal most of them, but some of the breaks were old, and had already started healing improperly. We’ve put his leg up to help with the swelling.”

“Is there a cane he can use?”

“We have a cane, here, that he can take.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Lucius said, a grimace passing over his face.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Narcissa said to the Healer. “Let’s get you home, and we can worry about everything else later,” she said to her husband.

Very carefully, the healer helped take Lucius’ leg out of the sling, and Narcissa and Draco gently pulled him up into a sitting position. Lucius pushed the sheets aside and moved to the edge of the bed, and Draco looked in dismay at his father’s legs, white with bruises of varying degrees of age all over his exposed skin. He looked as if someone had used his entire body as a punching bag. His right leg didn’t quite bend all the way, and turned in at an awkward angle at the knee.

“Father, I—”

“Draco, we will talk about it another time,” his mother said sternly, coming around to help Lucius stand. “Does he have any clothes?” she asked the Healer.

“Uh, yes, right here,” she said, turning to pick up some prison-grade robes and undergarments.

“Draco,” Narcissa prompted, nodding to the clothes.

Draco took the clothing from the Healer, and looked back to the guards, and Robards. “Could we get some privacy?”

“Yes, Draco, of course,” Robards said, jerking his head to the side to signal the guards to leave. The Healer followed, and Robards closed the door behind them.

Swallowing, the unease in his stomach growing stronger with every passing moment, Draco turned and helped his mother pull the hospital gown over Lucius’ head. As quickly as Lucius’ battered body would allow, they dressed him in the dark grey prison robes, and slipped on the shoes they left for him as well. Draco picked up the cane leaning against the wall and handed it to his father.

“Thank you,” Lucius said, a small smile tightening over the bones in his face. The beard made his face seem more sallow; gaunt and sharper than before.

Draco watched as Lucius tested his feet, walking slowly and stiffly, leaning on the cane heavily and taking small steps toward the door, his wife by his side. It destroyed every notion he’d ever had about his father, seeing him this way; he didn’t know what to think, or make of anything; it was all just wrong, wrong, _wrong_. His father shouldn’t look like this – this fragile, aging man wasn’t Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy was tall, and proud, almost to a fault, and wore a sneer even when he smiled. He spoke with command, and his presence demanded respect. The man hobbling toward the door was broken; a shell of a man, a man Draco wouldn’t look twice at if passing him in Knockturn Alley.

They made their way down the hall toward the stairs, Narcissa hovering at Lucius’ elbow. Draco trailed a little behind, and jumped when Robards appeared at his side.

“Draco, are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_ , thank you,” Draco said cordially.

“If you need to take a break from training...I can work out a leave of absence—“

“No,” Draco said, rather loudly, causing his mother to turn and look at them. “No,” he said more softly. “I appreciate it, Head Auror, but I don’t want any special treatment.”

“This is an unusual situation most trainees don’t find themselves in, Draco. It’s okay if you need—“

“I don’t. But thank you.”

“The offer stands. Anytime.”

“I appreciate it.”

They took the stairs very slowly, Lucius’ leg keeping him from going more than one step at a time. As they approached the door, Robards said, “We’ve provided a boat to the mainland, and some transportation once you reach Hull.”

“A boat?” Narcissa questioned.

“I was told Mr. Malfoy couldn’t travel via regular means, due to his injuries and state of health, so we’ve found someone willing to take you down to Wiltshire. With one of those Muggle vehicles.”

Though the look on her face was less-than-pleased, Narcissa nodded and bowed her head to her husband. “Is that okay?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t imagine side-along Apparition would do me a world of good at the moment,” he mumbled. Narcissa looked up at Robards and nodded.

The water in the North Sea was choppy, the mid-sized motorboat the M.L.E. had procured probably not the best for such high winds. Draco tried not to be sick, and held onto the railing with a vice-like grip. His father looked not much better than Draco felt, his eyes closed against the spray and leaning heavily into his mother. Narcissa’s face was stoic, if a little severe, as she looked resolutely ahead, her arm around her husband’s shoulders.

“Just a little bit further, folks,” the skipper said, adjusting the rudder just slightly as they sped along in the Muggle boat. Robards sat beside him, and when the boat docked, and Draco and his parents made their way shakily off and onto slightly sterner land, Robards took out his wand and _Obliviated_ the Muggle. “Thank you for your services,” he said to the now vacant man. Taking out a few coins from his pocket, he put them in the Muggle’s hand. “Here’s a few quid for your trouble.”

“No problem,” the man replied blankly.

Robards turned away and led the Malfoys down the dock to the ferry terminal. “Your car waits just outside,” he said, gesturing out the big windows toward the street. “He seems like a nice chap. I do hope the trip isn’t too long.” Robards led them outside and waved to a man leaning against his car.

“How did you find this man, exactly?” Draco asked.

“He had posted on the board, there, looking for a travelling companion. Turns out he has business in Swindon. That’s not too far from you, right?”

“Well, no, but... A Muggle, sir? There was no other means to get us home?”

“All of the Ministry’s cars are in London. This way is the fastest. Unless you want to fly in a Muggle plane.”

Draco’s mother looked pale and resigned, his father looking off into the distance. “Okay, okay. It’s fine.”

Robards nodded and brought the Malfoys over to meet the driver. “Well, aren’t you a funny-dressed lot,” the driver said, a man in his early fifties, wearing a newsboy cap and a sweater vest. “Are you in one of those Shakespeare acting troupes?” he asked, eyeing Lucius’ haggard appearance.

“What?” Draco asked.

“They’re just on their way home,” Robards said, his command addressing the situation. He held out payment for the driver. “Please take them all the way there. Wiltshire. They’ll show you the way once you’re close.”

The driver eyed them one last time but shrugged. “I have business in Swindon. Isn’t much farther.”

Once Draco and Narcissa had helped Lucius inside and settled in themselves, the driver turned to them. “It’s going to be a long trip tonight. Let me know if you need to stop for the toilet.”

“Er...thanks. We’ll be sure to do that,” Draco said.

“He’s not going to be sick, is he?” the man said, looking again at Draco’s father.

Lucius’ eyes came back into focus and he cast an icy look at the driver. “You do your job, and I won’t be.”

The driver frowned, but turned around and started the car. Draco turned a smile toward the window, relieved to see that the father he’d always known was still in there.

Draco watched Robards wave a little at him through the window as they pulled away. He raised his hand to wave ‘thanks’, but Robards had already Apparated.

“So, my name’s Rich,” the driver said, looking at them in the rear view. “Thank you for coming with me. I don’t like to travel alone.”

“Thank you for taking us all the way to Wiltshire,” Narcissa said. “It’s very kind of you to let strangers into your...car.”

“Honoured, ma’am,” Rich said. “Er...so what’s your names?”

“Our name is not important,” Lucius said. Draco cast a look at his father.

“Oh. Alright,” Rich said, obviously confused, but still willing to drive, as he hadn’t pulled over.

The trip was long, driving along the highways of England, the Malfoys staying mostly silent, taken by their own thoughts, and Rich humming awkwardly in the front. Lucius had dozed at one moment, a jolt from a bump in the road waking him from a restless sleep.

Draco held onto his mother’s hand, watching the scenery fly by; endless green and the occasional canopy of red and gold. Most of the trees were bare, succumbed to the winter’s frost farther north. It rained off and on as they traversed the countryside at a steady pace. The light grew dim by the minute, helped along by the perpetual cloud cover.

After a few hours, the driver called back, “We’re approaching Long Eaton. It’s about half-way. Do you need to stop for anything? Food? The loo?”

Narcissa turned to her husband. ‘Do you need anything, dear?”

“A meal would be nice.”

“I have money,” Draco announced. “The proper kind.”

His mother shot him a puzzled look, but addressed Rich. “If you’d be so kind as to find us a decent eating establishment.”

Rich nodded. “I know a place. Best chips on this stretch of the M1.”

A few minutes later, they pulled over next to the pavement. “There’s a little place, just right there on the corner.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Narcissa asked.

“I’ll be in in a bit. Just need to go get myself some more tobacco for my pipe.”

Lucius spoke up. “I think we’d prefer it if you joined us. We don’t know you and we’re not in the habit of being robbed.”

“Robbed, sir?”

Draco chimed in. “I think what my father means to say is that we don’t want you abandoning us here.”

Rich turned around. “Hey – I’m not easily offended, but I said I’d take you lot home, and I will.”

“How can we be guaranteed that? We didn’t make this bargain with you, and Robards paid you up front. For all we know, you’ll take the money and run.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to trust me then, sonny.”

Draco sat back, not liking this situation any more than his father. “Mother, Father, you go inside. I’ll stay with the driver.”

“You’re sure?” his mother asked.

“Yes. We’ll meet you inside.”

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a look but made their way out of the car and down the street.

“You don’t trust easily, do you?” Rich asked.

“Sorry, I make it a habit of not trusting easily. Keeps me from trouble, you see.”

Sighing, Rich got out of the car. Draco followed suit, and they regarded each other over the roof.

“What’s your name?”

“My father told you, our names aren’t important.”

“Hey, I’m trusting my life here just as much as you’re trusting yours. My name’s Rich Barnstead. I live in Hull, I teach History at Hymers College. I’m going to Swindon to see my son for the holiday.”

“My name is Draco,” he said after a moment.

Rich Barnstead nodded. “Draco. Interesting name. Means ‘dragon’, in Latin, correct?” Rich said, turning and walking across the street to the smoke shop. Draco came around the other side of the car, taking quick strides to catch up.

“Yes, it means, ‘dragon’.”

“It’s an unusual name.”

“Yes, well I’m not a usual sort of fellow,” Draco said.

“That, I can see,” Rich said, but he looked over his shoulder with a smile, pulling open the door to the smoke shop, a bell jingling loudly above.

Draco followed Rich into the shop, which smelled sweetly of pipe tobacco. It was a dark shop; everything covered in stained wood and lit dimly. There was almost a haze of smoke, Draco could see, but it didn’t look like it had any apparent source.

A man came out from a little doorway in the back, shuffling forward in his threadbare jumper and corduroys. “How can I help you?” He passed glance at Draco, who was hovering near the door, but slid his eyes back to Rich without so much as an eyebrow lift.

“I’d like some Samuel Gawith, please. Full Virginia Flake.”

The shopkeeper shuffled over to a shelf and reached up for Rich’s request. “Just the one tin?” he asked, turning around and setting it on the counter. A green silhouette of a man in a deerstalker hat smoking a pipe stood out on the yellow label. Draco vaguely caught the cultural reference from his time reading literature from the Wiltshire Public Library. The tin also sported a rather harsh-looking white and black sticker that read: _Smoking seriously harms you and others around you._

“Just for now, yes. Might be back through on my way home.”

“Ah, yes, I thought you seemed familiar.” The shopkeeper rang Rich’s selection up.

“I come through at least once a year. Down to Swindon to see my son and his family for the holiday.”

“Great you can make the trip,” he said. “Your total is twelve eighty-two.” As Rich paid the man, he looked over at Draco. “He with you?”

Rich looked back over his shoulder. “Yeah, he is.”

“Grandson? You two don’t look alike.”

“I’m his travelling companion,” Draco said.

The old shopkeeper shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. Just wanted to make sure you’re not here to cause any trouble.”

“And why would you think I’d do that?” Draco asked, mildly offended.

“Thanks, mate,” Rich said to the shopkeeper, turning away and taking Draco by the arm, ushering him back out the door. “Perhaps he said that because of the way you’re dressed,” Rich said, not unkindly.

Draco looked down at his robes and sighed. He shrugged them off his shoulders and folded them over his arm. “There, is that better?”

Rich’s smile was light. “Well, you almost look normal. Can I ask,” he said, dropping his new tin of tobacco into one pocket and fishing out the old one from his other, “why are you and your parents dressed that way?”

“It’s complicated, and you wouldn’t understand.”

Rich pulled his pipe out of his pocket, rubbing it absently in a way familiar to his fingers. He opened the tin as he and Draco walked toward the end of the street, pulling out a bit of the flake and pinching it between his fingers, rubbing it out into the bowl of his pipe. He tamped it down with his thumb, and added a bit more, tamping it down again. Draco watched his hands work; old, soft hands that moved with years of practice, packing the bowl and lighting it with swift ease. Rich puffed a little, helping the tobacco to light, then brought a little into his mouth, exhaling it in a sigh.

“I’ve come to learn, that there’s a lot in this world that is understandable, if you just approach it with an open mind.”

“I really can’t say,” Draco said, and started to feel guilty that he had to effectively lie to this man, who really seemed like an alright Muggle, even by Draco’s standards. That mostly being Kyle and the dotty librarian who seemed to find great comfort in the fact that he appeared to want to read every book in the library. But this was his livelihood. Wizards couldn’t be known by Muggles. It just made things tricky. And Draco really didn’t want to have to _Obliviate_ the man driving them home.

“Well, let me ask you this: what are you afraid of?”

“Sorry?”

“The reason you won’t share any personal information with me, I’m guessing, is fear. And that’s okay. I don’t really need to know. We’re strangers travelling down the isle together, and after this, I imagine we’ll never see each other again. But if the reason you won’t share any information is fear, I have to wonder, how does that affect other parts of your life?”

“It doesn’t,” Draco said defensively.

They stopped at the corner, across from the cafe. Draco could see his parents sitting together in a booth near a window in the back, away from the other customers.

“Look,” he said, his hands in his pockets, “it’s not that I would have much of a problem telling you, I just don’t think it’s really any of your business.”

“Okay. Fair enough, son. I just see a lot of boys your age angry at the world, and they can wind up hurting people they don’t mean to because they don’t know how to talk about what’s going on. Secrets usually wind up hurting more than helping, I’ve noticed.”

“Your unsolicited advice is noted. Can we go get some food, now? My parents are waiting.”

“Yes, of course,” Rich said, glancing both ways down the street before crossing.

They entered the cafe and Draco swiftly made his way to the back. His mother was sitting on the outside of the bench seat, close to his father, her hands resting lightly on the edge of the table. The menus sat unopened in the middle of the table.

“Were you waiting on us to order?” Rich asked, sliding into the booth when Draco gestured for him to sit first.

“Yes. It seemed...polite,” Narcissa said, and Draco could tell she felt totally out of place, but was resolute in not showing it. His father was trying to sit up straight for appearances sake, but his gaze kept going a little glassy as he stared at the salt and pepper shakers.

“Father,” Draco said, “What would you like? Some soup?” Draco took the menus and passed one to Rich and one to his mother, and kept one for himself. “There’s some chicken stew today,” he said, feeling the pressure to keep up appearances for both his parent’s sake and feeling ridiculous doing it. Rich stayed quiet, but didn’t seem put-off by Draco’s strangely cheerful demeanour.

A waitress appeared at their table with some water glasses. “Have you decided, or do you need a few more moments?”

“A few more moments, if you please,” Draco said, smiling his politely charming smile up at her. She smiled back and nodded, leaving them alone.

“I am out of my depth, here,” Narcissa said, eyes raking over the menu with a bit of distaste.

“I think I’ll have a cheese toasty,” Rich said. “With chips.”

“That sounds good,” Draco said. “Father? Soup?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Lucius said, his eyes going back into focus. Draco bit his lip.

Narcissa sighed. “I suppose I’ll have... A clubhouse sandwich. With salad.”

“Great,” Draco said, flagging down their waitress.

After they ordered, Draco sipped his water and darted looks around the table. “So, Mr. Barnstead,” he said, trying to break the tension. “How long do you think until we’re in Wiltshire?”

“Oh, another two hours or so. I imagine we’ll make it in around...nine? Maybe a bit later, as we’ve stopped.”

“Oh. Okay, good.” Draco nodded. He watched his Father reach forward and pick up his water glass, bringing it to his lips slowly, his hand shaking. A little bit of water spilt onto Lucius’ shirt and he took his glass away too quickly, splashing more.

“Oh, dear,” Narcissa said, turning to her husband and taking the glass from him. Draco saw her immediately go to pull out her wand and put out a hand to stop her.

“It’s okay, Mother. I’ll take him to the loo. Help dry him off.”

“Dammit,” Lucius muttered, looking furious with himself.

“Father, it’s okay,” Draco said, standing, and helping his mother get Lucius out of the booth. “Do you see a sign for the loo?” he asked to no one in particular.

“It’s in the corner there,” Rich said, pointing just behind Draco.

“Thank you. C’mon, Father. I’ve got you.” Draco led Lucius into the toilet and then took out his wand, spelling the door locked.

“Dammit, Draco, I don’t need to be ushered around like a child,” his father said.

Draco pointed his wand at the water stain and it disappeared. “I’m not trying to usher you around, Father. But you need help. And you’re too proud to admit it,” he said truthfully, expecting his father’s wrath.

Lucius leaned on his hands against the porcelain of the sink. “You’ve grown a lot of cheek since I left,” he said. He tossed his cane to the side. “I shouldn’t need that stupid thing.”

Draco swallowed back the overwhelming feeling of helplessness at seeing his father in such a state. He bent down to retrieve the cane, leaning it against the sink by his father’s hand. “But you do. Father, I know you don’t want my help, or Mother’s, but you have to accept it. You’re not – you aren’t...”

“What, Draco? Speak your mind.”

Draco swallowed again. “You’re not the same. At least, your body isn’t. Once we get you home, we’ll do everything we can to get you better. Do whatever we can to fix your leg. For now, just...be happy you’re home? Back to us?”

Lucius raised his head, looking at himself in the mirror. He reached out a hand and placed it heavily on Draco’s shoulder. “I am. Happy. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Me either,” Draco admitted.

“Gods, look at me. I’m an old man,” Lucius said.

Before Draco had a chance to reply, there was a knock on the door. “Draco?” Rich said. “Our food’s arrived.”

Lucius turned on Draco. “He knows your name?”

Draco nodded. “He needed a little bit of trust. I don’t blame him. Look at you,” he said, and smiled at his father. “He knows nothing else. I promise.”

Lucius sighed and picked up his cane and waited for Draco to unlock the door. “Honestly, Draco, it’s a miracle you’ve survived these past two years without me,” but it was said without any real malice.

Their meal was quiet, but relatively uneventful. Lucius ate his soup slowly, hand still shaking, but didn’t have any more accidents.

They returned to the road and almost immediately, Lucius fell into a fitful slumber, murmuring nonsense under his breath. Draco’s mother put an arm around her husband and guided his head to her shoulder, looking out the window through the steady rhythm of the street lamps as they passed by.

Draco’s eyes felt heavy at one point, the trip reminding him slightly of the yearly trips to and from Hogwarts, though more cramped. Draco opted to sit in the front with Rich in this leg of the trip, and felt it a bit easier to stretch out his legs.

“It’s okay to sleep, if you need to,” Rich said quietly to Draco. “I won’t be offended. I know I’m not exactly chatty company. Unless you’d like to hear about the Roman conquest of Britannia in the first century. Or perhaps you’d rather hear about the French Revolution? The fall of Japanese Imperialism, the rise of their grand industrial period, and the aftermath of World War II? Japan has a very interesting history. Closed off to most foreign trade for thousands of years, only to open up to the Dutch in the early seventeenth century and then again to world trade in eighteen fifty-eight before becoming completely industrialized within the next seventy-five years. Almost entirely changed their culture, and yet, they retain so much of where they come from. Fascinating stuff.”

Draco chuckled under his breath. “Well, you’re kind of on a roll, and I’d hate to interrupt you, so please, go ahead with your tales.”

Rich spent the next hour or so regaling Draco – quite animatedly – about Japan and Japanese culture, and the changes they went through in the last two hundred years. Draco at first listened with half an ear, but eventually became more interested, feeling like he was reading a book on the subject, except with a better storyteller.

Eventually, they arrived in Wiltshire, and Draco guided Rich to their street. Lucius had woken up at some point, Draco wasn’t sure, and spoke up from the back.

“Here’s fine,” he said.

“Here?” Rich asked, looked sceptical through the mirror. The stretch of street they were on was rather dark; only a few house lights on nearby.

“But Father, we’re still—“

“Here is _fine_ , Draco,” Lucius repeated, and his tone brooked no argument.

Rich pulled over, and Draco got out and helped his mother, then father out of the vehicle. Narcissa moved Lucius off to the side, and Draco leaned down to talk to Rich through the driver’s side window.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnstead.”

“Rich.”

“Thank you, Rich. My family and I really appreciate the favour.”

Rich shrugged, smiling. “I got paid, so...”

Draco smiled, holding out his hand. “Thanks again. And thank you for your history lesson. You were right; fascinating stuff.”

Rich shook Draco’s hand. “Anytime.”

Draco waved a little as Rich drove away. He turned to his parents. “Why did you have him drop us off a mile from the Manor?”

“We don’t need a Muggle knowing where we live,” his father replied.

“Muggles go past our drive all the time. Besides, why would it matter? We’re safe, Father. We have amnesty. The war’s over.”

“No, Draco. _You_ have amnesty. _I_ am still a war criminal wanted by a lot of people.”

Draco sighed conceding. “Will you be alright, though? It’s a long walk from here.”

Lucius waved him away. “I need to stretch my legs. Cast _Lumos_ , will you, son?”

Draco cast the spell and lit the ground ahead. They walked silently for a few moments, a rumble of thunder far away signalling the threat of rain. A cold breeze picked up, and Draco took off his robes and placed them over his father’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” Lucius said, pulling them closer.

“Father, what happened to you?” Draco asked.

“Draco,” his mother warned.

Lucius held up a hand. “No, no, Narcissa. It’s alright. You’re both owed an explanation.” He paused for a moment, his breathing a little laboured. He began walking again, speaking in shorter bursts.

“I left because I thought – I felt that you would be safer without me around. It was idiotic of me, I know, but I managed to convince myself that I’d be better off on the run than back in Azkaban. I didn’t know until after I left that Potter had intended to speak up on our behalf, and by that time, it was too late. I looked guilty.”

Draco refrained from saying he _was_ guilty, since perhaps Draco had a lot to make up for, still, too.

“I thought I had friends,” Lucius went on, “friends in the Balkans I could go to. I was wrong. They welcomed me long enough to betray me. They called me ‘traitor’, took my wand, broke it, and then tortured me.”

Narcissa gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe... Those _scum_ ,” she said, her hands curling into fists. “I ought to hunt them down and torture them myself.”

Draco put an arm around his mother. “I’ll join you,” he said wryly.

Lucius looked ahead of them, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. They huddled around the circle of light from Draco’s wand, a Wizarding family reunited under grim circumstances, but together, nonetheless.

“Father?” Draco asked, when he saw his father’s eyes focusing on some memory in the distance.

“I’m fine, Draco, stop coddling me,” Lucius said, resuming his painful walk.

“I’m not coddling you, Father, I—“ he was cut off by a shake of his mother’s head.

“Draco’s just worried about you, Husband. We both are. It’s been a long two years, waiting for your return.”

Draco rolled his eyes at his mother’s placations. But he wasn’t about to admit that he stopped believing his father would return a long time ago.

“Well, I escaped, and spent a long time trying to find a way back to you. I’m here now.” Lucius said, in a tone that suggested he was trying to convince himself that he was, indeed, back.

“And we’re beyond relieved,” Narcissa said. “We’ll get you home, get you cleaned up and into bed.”

“I still don’t understand why Mr. Barnstead couldn’t drop us off at least at the end of our drive,” Draco mumbled.

“What is this fondness for Muggles I keep hearing coming out of your mouth?” Lucius asked, his wild, piercing grey eyes shining at Draco in the dim light.

“Well, _Father_ , when the whole of Wizarding society sees you as nothing more than a Dark Wizard and treats you like a pariah, there isn’t anywhere else for one to go,” Draco snapped, angry that his father thought he could just return and the previous familial hierarchy automatically be restored.

“Draco, don’t,” his mother sighed, as if disappointed.

“We’ll talk about this later, Draco,” Lucius said, the walking clearly taking a toll.

“This is bollocks,” Draco said, stalking ahead, the wand light going with him.

“Draco!” his mother called. “Draco, get back here!”

“Sod off, Mother!” Draco called over his shoulder.

He heard a crack behind him, and with a pop, his mother appeared in front of him, her ‘Wrath of Mum’ face on. Draco back peddled a few steps.

“Don’t you _dare_ speak to me that way, Draco Lucius Malfoy! I understand that you’re upset, and I understand _why_ , but you will _not_ disrespect me or your father. Do you understand?”

“Mother, how can we act like this man didn’t abandon us for two years? I’m glad he’s back, but he can’t just return acting like he’s still in charge.”

“He is your father, and he requires your respect. You heard him, Draco. He spent most of those two years trying to get back to us. Hasn’t he been through enough?” Narcissa stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Haven’t we?”

Draco saw the desperation in her eyes. He sighed. “Yes,” he replied quietly.

“Good. Now go apologise to your father. We need to get him home.”

Draco returned to his Father’s side. Lucius stood, both hands on his cane, his spine as straight as he could manage. “I’m sorry, Father,” Draco said not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m not...ungrateful that you’re home, I just...”

“Things have been difficult,” Lucius finished for him.

Draco finally met his eyes. They were the same height now, Draco being perhaps a little taller, but it was hard to tell with his Father’s stature so diminished. “Yes.”

Lucius put a heavy hand on Draco’s shoulder. His fingers dug in a little uncomfortably, but Draco could tell it was just because his father was so unsteady on his feet. “I hear forgiveness is a virtue. You’ve been the head of the family in my absence. I recognise that. I suppose starting over will take some time.”

Draco nodded, a bit surprised at his father’s outlook. Draco rarely tried to cross his father in the past, but when it happened, it wasn’t pretty. But Draco knew his father loved him. There had never been any doubt of that, until he’d left. And even then, his mother made it clear that Lucius leaving had everything to do with how much he loved his family, whether Draco decided to believe it or not was up to him, though he had to admit he didn’t know what to believe most of the time, hence the swift decline in his father’s spirits stock.

“Yes, I suppose it will,” Draco replied. They turned, and Lucius kept a grip on Draco’s elbow, helping steady himself as they caught up with where Narciss was waiting.

“It’s getting very cold. We should hurry,” Narcissa said.

Though the snow the day before didn’t stick, there was a definite chill in the air still, and Narcissa cast a few warming charms to keep the long walk back from being unbearable.

It had started to snow by the time they started up their long, straight driveway to the Manor. Lucius paused a few times, it appeared more to look around the home he hadn’t seen in two years than to catch his breath.

The house was cold and dark once they were inside, and Narcissa immediately took to guiding her husband up the stairs. “Draco, could you light the fires, please?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Of course, Mother. Is there anything else I can help with?”

“No. I’m just going to take your father upstairs and run him a bath. Please see that there is some hot tea and snacks when he gets out.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Draco watched them go, the stairs another obstacle for Draco’s father to overcome. Draco went around the Manor, lighting fires in the rooms most likely to be used, and preparing tea and reheating some leftovers from dinner the other night. He was in the study nursing a spiked tea when his mother appeared a while later.

“Your father’s in bed,” she said, coming to sit beside him on the sofa. “He was exhausted from the trip.” She put her arm around him and pressed a kiss to his temple. Draco leaned into the touch. Their Christmas tree was set up in the corner nearby, fairy lights twinkling and glowing merrily, floating around the fir. The tree had always been set up in the drawing room before, but Draco had erected it in the study this year, not caring much for traditions anymore, and feeling since he and his mother used this room more often, the cosier setting seemed more apt.

“I’m sorry. About earlier,” Draco said.

“I know. And I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I know you’ve been angry with your father for a long time. But he’s home, and he needs us to be strong for him. Can you do that, Draco?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Good. I think it’s time we’re all off to bed. It’s been a very trying day.” She stood and smoothed her robes, wrinkled from travelling. “I love you, Dragon.”

Draco nodded, swallowing back emotions. “I love you, too, Mum.”

Draco watched her go, before staring into his tea cup. He turned to look into the fire, not wanting to let the emotions of the day overwhelm him, but he found himself wiping tears off his cheeks anyway. The clock struck midnight, and Draco _accio’d_ the bottle of whiskey he’d used earlier to his empty hand.

“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, tipping the bottle into his sad, little teacup.

***

When Draco woke the next morning, his mother was standing over him, mild disapproval on her face. He rubbed his face groggily, realising he’d fallen asleep on the sofa.

“It’s good your father’s not yet up,” she said, gathering the empty whiskey bottle and teacup from the floor and setting them on the table. “Draco, the state you’re in. It’s Christmas. Get up, go bathe, and put some proper pyjamas on. I don’t want your father knowing you slept on his sofa.”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco said, squinting his eyes against his headache. _Back to normal in the Malfoy house_ , he thought.

“Oh, and brush your teeth!”

Nodding absently, he pulled himself from his marriage with the furniture and trudged up the stairs, wanting desperately to wake up in some other world where none of this was happening to him. His father never left, Harry never left, he was already an Auror, and didn’t live at home.

When he felt more normal, he came downstairs to hear his mother and father talking quietly in the dining room. He followed the noise, and found his parents sharing a meal, an empty place for him.

“Ah, there he is. Merry Christmas, Draco,” his mother said, gesturing to the empty place setting.

Draco sat down, looking at his father. Lucius was clean shaven, his long hair pulled back with a green ribbon, away from his still-gaunt face. But his pallor held more colour than it had yesterday, and it seemed the shaking in his hands had lessened. His dressing gown was a little loose on his frame, but he seemed far more relaxed than he did the previous day.

“Good morning, Father. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Lucius replied, stirring his coffee.

“How did you sleep?” Draco asked, piling eggs and sausages on his plate. He was famished, he realised.

“The best I have in a very long time,” Lucius said, his hand finding Narcissa’s at the corner of the table. “You?”

Draco shot a look at his mum as he placed a forkful of eggs in his mouth. “Good,” he replied, once he’d swallowed.

Breakfast was quiet, Lucius only picking at his food, his coffee sipped until it was cold and Narcissa had to warm it again. Narcissa murmured possible plans for the day, apologising for not buying anything for Lucius for the holiday.

Lucius waved her worries away with a soft smile Draco had only seen him reserve for her. “I don’t need anything. I am home. That is the greatest gift I could have.”

Narcissa smiled, leaning over to kiss her husband briefly. “It’s our greatest gift, as well.”

“As long as I still get that broom that’s under the tree,” Draco remarked, smiling over his coffee.

“Ah, yes. Presents. I do believe your mother and I have raised a spoiled young man, Draco.” Lucius’ eyes were smiling.

“Well, this spoiled young man is currently training to be an Auror,” Draco replied, finding it difficult to contain the smug smile tugging at his lips.

Lucius looked startled. “An Auror?”

“Yes, dear,” Narcissa said. “Head Auror Robards approached Draco himself, asking him if he was interested.”

“I see. I suppose I’ve missed a lot in my absence. Congratulations, son.” Approval peeked out behind the confusion in his father’s eyes.

“Thank you, Father.”

The day was spent mostly in the study, Narcissa and Draco opening gifts, and Lucius sitting by the fire, a blanket covering his legs as if he couldn’t get warm enough. It was quiet, but enjoyable, and Draco even challenged his father to a game of chess when the doorbell rang.

“Goodness,” Narcissa said. “On Christmas? Who could that be?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go see,” Draco said, standing.

He opened the door, expecting an Auror, perhaps, or a Ministry official, here to take his father away when he’d just got home, but realised he shouldn’t have been surprised that it was Potter.

“Potter, it’s Christmas. My father hasn’t even been home for twenty-four hours. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you were doing. How your father was. Um...and to wish you a Merry Christmas,” Potter said, holding out a small package wrapped in brown paper and twine.

“What’s that?” Draco asked, not taking it.

“It’s... Well, it’s a gift. A present. For you.” Potter continued to hold it out to him.

“I don’t want it.”

“Malfoy, just take it. I’ve already made it clear how I feel. This isn’t about that. It’s just something I thought you might like to have.”

Snatching it away roughly, Draco tore open the paper and pulled out the box inside. He lifted the lid on the box, and blinked at the contents.

It was a badge. From the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry. It said “Not-Harry Potter” on it.

“Where did you...? Why do you have this?”

Potter shrugged. “I found it while cleaning the other day. I just thought...maybe you might like to have it.”

“Right. Well, thanks,” Draco said, making to close the door.

“Draco, wait!” Potter said, stopping the door and stepping up into the doorframe.

“Potter, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop—“

“Stop calling you that, I know. Sorry. I just wanted to say, that I’m glad your father’s back, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure they don’t put him in Azkaban.”

Draco looked off to the side. “I appreciate that, Potter. Thanks. For this,” Draco said, lifting up the box with Harry’s badge in it. “I should be getting back.”

“Right.” Potter stepped back outside. “Well... Have a happy Christmas.”

“Um...you too.”

“Bye,” Potter said, waving a little, then turned away.

Draco closed the door and looked at the box in his hand. “Dammit, Potter,” he cursed under his breath.

“What about Potter?” his father’s voice said from the other side of the foyer.

Draco’s head snapped up, and he automatically tried to hide the evidence of Potter’s affections behind his back. “Nothing. That was him, just now. Wanted to let me know that he’d try to keep you out of Azkaban.”

Lucius nodded once, his lips pursing. “That was...nice of him. He could have sent an owl.”

“I know,” Draco said. “He doesn’t seem to believe in them, though.”

“He doesn’t?”

Draco shrugged. “He likes to stop by. You know, on Ministry business, seeing as he’s an Auror now.”

“I see,” Lucius said, regarding Draco thoughtfully. He turned and started walking back down the hall. “Let’s go, Draco. Your mother’s waiting eagerly to see who wins our game.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco said, shoving the box and it’s wrappings in his pocket. He’d just have to deal with Potter’s newest attempt at an olive branch later.

***

The holiday flew by, and Draco found himself wishing he’d taken Robards up on his offer of leave from training, when the time came for him to get back to it. But his mother reminded him that appearances were important, and so was the opportunity, and Lucius made no argument for Draco to say, only asked him to ‘make him proud’. So Draco left, and returned to his training, completely forgetting one tiny detail.

Harry Potter was going to be his trainer for the week.

It was a jolt, seeing Potter at the Training House. Draco had walked into the briefing room that first day back and stopped in his tracks, causing Evans to collide with his shoulder.

“Malfoy, watch it,” Evans said, but Draco didn’t really respond. He was too busy staring as Potter and Macreary stood at the front of the room, conspiring about something or another.

Evans brushed past Draco, which knocked him out of his shock. “What’s wrong?” he asked Draco. Draco shook his head and took his place in formation, standing with the other recruits, waiting for their orders. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the front.

Potter nodded at something Macreary said, and then turned to look at the room. His eyes met Draco’s briefly, but they made no sign of recognition. It was if Draco was anybody else in the room.

Macreary turned to them and spoke. “We have a special trainer, here today. I’m sure you’re all very aware of who Mr. Harry Potter is, and that he’s one of our best young Aurors, so I won’t go into any details. He’s here this week to teach you all about some of the more innovative ways of defence, including casting a Patronus. Mr. Potter, it’s your show,” Macreary said, gesturing to the class.

Potter stepped up. “Thank you, Senior Auror Macreary. I know you all have been working on defensive and offensive spells. What I’m going to teach you this week involves using defensive spells to take control of a situation, with minimal damage to the surrounding area or your perpetrator. I’m also going to spending a lot of time on the Patronus spell, as Macreary said. It can be very difficult to learn, but I’m sure by the end of the week, you’ll all be masters at it.”

Mulfich raised his hand. “Yes, Recruit...?” Potter prompted.

“Mulfich, sir. I’m just wondering... Why do we need to know how to cast a Patronus when the Dementors are all but gone?”

A smile graced Potter’s lips. “Does anyone know the answer to Recruit Mulfich’s question?” His eyes scanned the room, and rested on Draco.

After a moment, Draco rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. “Patronus’ are fucking scary as hell, Mulfich, that’s why. Ever had one bearing down on you?”

“No, of course not,” Mulfich said, looking askance at Draco.

“Well, it’s bloody terrifying. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Potter pressed his lips together, it appeared to keep himself from laughing. “Yes, Recruit Malfoy, that is one reason. Another reason it’s good to know how to cast a Patronus, is because they can send messages between you and anyone you choose. Which can be very helpful in the field. Let’s get started.”

Potter had them all spread out, then went over the basics with them. “You never know what your Patronus is going to look like. You have to think of your happiest memory. The purest of happy. It could be when you won your first Quidditch game, or cast your first spell. Your best birthday, or even, maybe, your first kiss,” he said as he walked around the room, and Draco’s eyes absolutely _did not_ glance over at Potter as he said the last bit. Thankfully, Potter wasn’t looking in his direction.

“Okay, everyone watch,” Potter said. He went to the front of the room, and began to demonstrate the wand movement. “The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Potter said, flicking his wrist, and large, ghostly stag sprung from his wand. The recruits all jumped back, the ones in the front especially. Draco flinched, but otherwise didn’t move. The stag stood there for a moment, stamping a soundless hoof, it’s antlers grazing the ceiling. It stepped in between the recruits, who scattered to the side, and came right up to Draco, brushing its muzzle against his cheek before vanishing.

Draco looked at Potter, horrified. He breathed sharply through his nose. Potter’s cheeks turned a little pink, and he looked mildly embarrassed, as if his Patronus had a mind of its own. Thankfully, no one was noticing that, and only clapped in admiration.

“Yes. That would be the ‘bloody terrifying’ thing Recruit Malfoy was talking about,” Potter said, smirking. “I know it seems easy, but it does take a lot of concentration to master. So let’s begin.”

Potter took them through the set up for the spell. “Close your eyes. Find your memory. Hold it there...then cast your spell,” he said.

Everyone’s attempts produced nothing or just thin wisp of smoke. Draco didn’t even make an attempt. Potter, of course, noticed. He came over to investigate.

“Recruit Malfoy, why didn’t you try casting?”

Draco looked resolutely ahead. “Because I’m still trying to find a happy memory, Potter.”

“That’s ‘Auror Potter’ to you,” Potter said, smirking. “I doubt you don’t have at least one happy memory to try with.”

Draco looked around the room and the other recruits looking at them. “I’m sure I can find something, _Auror_ _Potter_ ,” Draco murmured.

“Good. Let’s try again,” Potter said to the room at large, turning away.  
   
Draco sighed. This was going to be a long week.

***

Draco was, he felt, the proper amount of relieved when the week ended. It had been torture. And not in the ‘sweet Lord, give me some relief in the form of a shag’ kind of torture. More in the ‘oh Merlin, Potter stop looking at me, it’s making me mess up and act like a fool’ kind of torture.

It took Draco three days – _three days_ – to finally form a solid Patronus. It was a West Highland Terrier. Draco was rather proud of it he had to admit, even though he was initially horrified at its rather bouncy and completely non-scary character. That is, until it started chasing Mulfich’s snake around. Once the Westie caught it, it shook the snake around in triumph until they both vanished. Draco laughed and Mulfich glared. When Draco looked over at Potter for approval, Potter nodded with a little smile, then moved on to helping Murphy.

Draco took the smile and stashed it away somewhere in his brain where it couldn’t hurt him.

But then they’d begun learning how to trade messages back and forth. Potter brought them all outside in the winter rain and had them split into two groups, standing on either side of the field, and had them begin to cast a Patronus, tell it a message, then send it to its recipient. Just simple questions like, “Is the sky blue?” and “How many departments are in the Ministry of Magic?” The result was for them to reply with the answer, and have it be the correct response. Once the training exercise was over, Draco sighed in relief that Potter hadn’t done something ridiculous like send him a love note via stag. But he remained a professional the entire week. So much so that Draco would have traded almost anything to have a proper row between them. Or, something other than this weird cordial nodding of heads and furtive glances.

But Potter’s week at the Training house ended, and he left, and Draco was alone again with no one but Macreary and the other recruits. That was, until Draco received an owl from the Ministry telling him that his Father’s trial would be next week on the fifth of January at nine in the morning. Macreary was required to give him leave, if he wanted to be present. Which, of course, he did.

The fifth of January couldn’t come fast enough, Draco thought, and took the stairs two at a time down from the Atrium of the Ministry to the tenth floor. His mother was waiting out in the hall, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh, Draco,” she said as he came up to her, kissing her cheek. “I’m so glad they let you out.”

“I needed to be here. I want to speak on Father’s behalf.”

Narcissa kissed his forehead. “Potter’s here as well. And a whole lot of other people,” she said, and they both watched as people filed into the Wizengamot’s chambers.

“We should go in,” Draco said. “It would look bad if we were late.”

They went in and took their seats. Draco looked around and saw a lot of people, many of whom he didn’t know, and many of whom looked very unhappy. He found Potter, and next to him were Granger and Weasley, and a few more of the Weasley brood. A few reporters from various publications were sitting off to the side, and Draco noticed quite a few Aurors acting as guard not only around Draco’s father, but around the room as well. Their presence made Draco a bit nervous, but he only took his mother’s hand to reassure her.

The Wizengamot brought the room to order, then began their spiel about why they were convened and the order of business. They started listing off Lucius’ crimes, and then asked, “How to you plead?”

“Guilty,” Lucius stated, and a large portion of the room gasped.

The Chief Warlock grumbled and brought order back to the room. “If that is the case, Mr. Malfoy, I do believe there is nothing further. This Wizengamot hereby sentences you—“

“Wait!” Potter leapt to his feet. “Chief Warlock, sir, and all members of the Wizengamot, I would like to speak on behalf of Mr. Malfoy.”

“Are you acting as his defence, Mr. Potter?” the Chief Warlock asked.

“Not exactly, sir. I just thought you might like to hear what I have to say before carrying out sentencing.”

“And why would we do that?” a witch on the council asked. “He’s pled guilty already.”

“And while I agree that what he’s done in the past deserves some form of punishment, perhaps you’ll change your minds on what his punishment should be when I’ve had a chance to speak.”

Draco stood. “I’d like to speak, too.”

Potter and Draco looked at each other across the aisle as the room erupted into a raucous noise.

“Order!” the Chief Warlock said, banging his gavel. “Order!” Once the room quieted down, he addressed them both. “Mr. Potter, and Mr. Malfoy, this is most uncustomary. Mr. Malfoy, I’m sure you can understand that anything you have to say will be carried with bias, seeing as how the accused is your father?”

“I understand that, sir, but I urge you to at least hear a son’s plea. A plea from me and from my mother, both of whom have been granted amnesty by this very council.”

The Chief Warlock turned to the council, then back to the room. “Very well. Mr. Potter, you may speak first.”

Potter stepped forward and stood next to Lucius. “I know this man,” he said, gesturing to Draco’s father, who had been restrained to the chair facing the council. “He has done many bad things in the past, some of them even to me, and while I do believe he should be punished, I think, considering the circumstances, he should be shown leniency. Almost two years ago, I set out to give the whole Malfoy family amnesty, and you heard me out. You stripped away some of their rights, but Narcissa and Draco are free wizards, and you agreed then that their actions during the war pardoned them from serving time in Azkaban. I tried to get a pardon for Lucius as well, but your reasoning was, that since he wasn’t present, you couldn’t treat him as though he were – that his absence was a sign of guilt. But he is here now. I know you’ve heard his own account of what happened to him during the past two years, and I know you know it to be true. I believe he’s been through enough. This man has great remorse for his crimes, sir. All he wants is live in peace with his wife and son. I ask you, that if you still see fit to punish him, let it not be in Azkaban, but perhaps in the form of some kind of monetary or community service work. No amount of time spent in Azkaban can make up for time lost with his family, or for his crimes against the Wizarding community. Let him make what reparations he can, rather than rot in some cell.”

There was a murmur from the peanut gallery, but the Chief Warlock held up a hand to silence them. “Thank you for that rather verbose recommendation, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy, do you have anything to add?”

Draco stepped forward. “Only to say that my father is not a man that can admit guilt very easily. He is a proud man, and the past two years have almost broken him. But he is my father, and he has realised his crimes. I love him, and so does my mother. He left because he thought he could protect us that way; that there are still dangers out there for bearers of the Dark Mark. We have finally been reunited with him; please don’t take him away again.”

The Chief Warlock nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You may both return to your seats.” Once Draco and Potter had sat back down, he went on. “It is this council’s opinion that Mr. Lucius Malfoy, while pleading guilty of his crimes, shall indeed, receive some form of punishment.”

Draco’s heart fell, and he clasped his mother’s hand, hard. The Chief Warlock continued. “While we appreciate the words of Mr. Potter and Mr. Draco Malfoy, we had already made our decision upon this trial’s start. Mr. Lucius Malfoy, you are hereby sentenced to two hundred days of suspension of spell craft or any other means of wizardry and within those two hundred days, a service to the Wizarding community will be paid, in a manner which will be laid out by the Auror assigned to your case. Furthermore, monetary compensation of one hundred Galleons will be paid to each Wizarding family that suffered a loss at the hands of your former master, the Dark Lord. Once the two hundred days are completed to this council’s satisfaction, your suspension will be lifted, and your amnesty granted. That is the will of this Wizengamot Council.” The Chief Warlock banged his gavel and stood, the Wizengamot disbanding, and Draco sat there, in shock.

He looked to his mother. Tears were falling down her face, little droplets staining her light blue robes. “Draco, Draco, your father,” she was urging, trying to get him to move.

“Draco, Draco!” Potter yelled over the cacophony of voices. He pushed through the people suddenly crowding the aisle and grabbed onto Draco’s arm, hauling him up and away.

“Potter, let go,” Draco protested, but Potter’s grip stayed strong. Draco kept a hold of his mother’s hand, afraid to let go.

They arrived at the seat that Lucius was currently being unlocked from. Potter let Draco go and started helping the other Aurors create a barricade between them and the teeming crowd of reporters, supporters, and prosecutors.

“Father!” Draco said, rushing forward to help his father stand. “We did it,” he said to his father’s ear, and Lucius nodded, his smile tight, but in his eyes Draco saw relief.

Narcissa was on Lucius’ other side. “Oh, love, you’re not going to Azkaban, I’m so relieved.”

“I thought they were going to send you back there for sure,” Draco said, supporting his father, as his cane was nowhere to be found.

“Here,” a voice said from behind him, and Draco turned to see Granger, with Weasley hovering behind, turned away, sticking his hands in the way of cameras. She held Lucius’ cane.

“Thanks,” Draco said, handing it to his father.

“Malfoy, wait,” she said, and he turned back to her.

“I really should get my father home,” he said, the crowd making him nervous.

“I know, I know. I just...” She looked over his shoulder at Potter, who had just jabbed someone in the gut with his elbow. No one else appeared to notice. “Harry really cares about you, you know? So just...I dunno...make an honest effort or something?”

“Granger, this really isn’t the place to be talking about this.”

“It’s the only time I’ve seen you since Harry left.”

Draco pursed his lips. “Yeah, and I was hoping we’d keep it that way.”

“You can’t keep holding onto your love for him. He’s gone. Besides, Harry’s trying here. He’s been extending the olive branch ever since he got back.”

Draco, panicking slightly because he really didn’t want having this conversation, and he really just wanted to get out of here and _go home_ , said wildly, “What is all this talk about love? I didn’t love him. I have my books. Books are love.”

Amidst the shouts of the Aurors, and the crowd, who was now being pushed back out of the Wizengamot Chambers, Granger became very still and just stared at Draco for a long moment.

“From one book lover to another, that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say, Malfoy.”

“Draco, I think it’s time we leave,” his mother said.

“Right. Look, Granger, I can’t talk about this. I need to go.” He turned away and helped his mother guide his father out of the Wizengamot chambers. Potter appeared at his side, acting as guard to push people out of the way. He led the way as they went up the stairs, though Lucius’ leg made it difficult to get far quickly.

When they reached the Atrium, Potter and his fellow Aurors ushered them to the Floo Network on the right side of the Atrium. “You’ll have to take the Floo, Father, will you be okay?” Draco asked.

“I’ll be fine, Draco. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, Mother, you go first.”

Narcissa grabbed the Floo Powder and threw it on the fire. Stepping inside, she called for the Manor, and was gone.

Lucius was next, and though he looked a little unsteady on his feet, his jaw was set, and he left just as his wife had.

Draco stepped forward, grabbing the powder and letting out a breath before throwing it on the flames. He knew that Granger’s special edition of Floo Powder was nowhere near being ready for the public, but he felt nervous anyhow. Stepping into the flames, he turned and caught Potter’s eye. Potter nodded once, encouragingly, and then Draco stated his address, and was spinning through the Floo Network home.

***

That evening, when the doorbell rang, Draco answered it with the idea that if it were Potter at the door, he might bloody well kiss him. Or strangle him for being so annoying. It was a toss-up.

Unfortunately for Draco, and fortunately for Potter, it was Potter’s rather gingery friend standing awkwardly tall on the Malfoy doorstep instead.

“Did you lot decide to take turns at showing up unannounced? I’m sort of in the middle of something. I’m always in the middle of something, come to think of it, so go away.”

“This will only take a minute. Just get with Harry, or else do a better job at convincing him you’re not worth it.”

“Seriously? You too? Granger already had this talk with me. Earlier today, in fact.”

“I know. I just wanted to make it clear. How we felt.”

“And how is that, exactly?”

“Like I said. I’m...fine with you and Harry, if you want to. If it’ll make him happy.”

“I don’t exactly need your blessing, Weasley. Besides, I have no intention of ‘getting with’ your dear Potter.”

Weasley sighed. “Look, I don’t get it, but Harry sees something in you, and I just want him to be happy. Put him out of his misery, alright? That’s all I came to say.”

“Alright, I’ve heard you. Now if you please...” Draco said, gesturing toward the expanse of outdoors behind Weasley.

“I’m going. Just...think about what I said, okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll spend all of my free time on the subject,” Draco said, closing the door while doing so. Turning around, he sighed. “Gryffindors, ugh.”

“House rivalries still causing you problem?”

Draco looked up to his father. He sighed again. “If only it were that simple.”

“Who was that at the door?”

“Weasley. Came to congratulate us,” Draco said, the lie slipping easily from his mouth as he stepped forward to return to the study, where the Malfoys were celebrating with some brandy and wine by the fire.

“Really? I find it hard to believe a Weasley would congratulate us on anything,” Lucius said, walking with Draco down the hall.

“Well, I imagine the one hundred Galleons they’ll be receiving from our vaults probably helps.”

“Ah. That’s right. They lost one of their brood, didn’t they?”

“One of the twins. The ones that ran Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes?”

“Right. I remember.” Lucius stopped. “Draco, your mother tells me you’ve all but cut ties with your friends.”

Draco turned around, stopping a few steps away. “They weren’t really friends.”

“Weren’t they?” Lucius stepped forward, as if to share a secret. “You’re training to be an Auror, Draco. Sometimes there’s more important things than caring what house someone was in at Hogwarts or what their bloodlines say.”

“That’s interesting talk, coming from you.”

“If there’s one thing the past two years have taught me, is that friendship offered in purity shouldn’t be taken lightly. It’s one of the only things that kept me alive.”

Lucius walked away while Draco stood in the hall, mulling over that bit of information.

It wasn’t that he _cared_ what house Weasley or Potter or anyone else had been in at Hogwarts. Not anymore. He had Muggle friends, for Merlin’s sake! Well, he supposed he could only really count Kyle, if that. It’s not like they got together outside of the occasional meal. Kyle didn’t know anything about who Draco really was, and Draco wanted to keep it that way.

But Draco didn’t want to be friends with Weasley. At all, if he could help it. Which was just another reason to not entertain any thoughts of seeing Potter again, in a more...friendly atmosphere. Potter came with _friends_ , and Draco didn’t really need friends. Or a boyfriend. He was fine on his own.

Though he and Evans were getting on alright, if Draco had to admit. Evans was the upstanding type, which would normally cause Draco to roll his eyes, but Evans didn’t give up, and his sense of right and wrong would rival Potter’s. Plus, he was kind of charming, with his blue eyes and blond hair and his self-deprecating nature.

But he wasn’t a friend. Not really. Draco wasn’t sure what that word even meant anymore. If it meant unannounced visits to his home and unexpected snog sessions in front of his fireplace, he didn’t want it.

Okay, maybe he did want that snogging bit. But only a little.

Deciding that he’d deal with friends when he was done with his training, Draco went into the study to finish the game of Wizard’s Poker that his father was most definitely cheating at, and his mother would most likely win. He had training to get back to in the morning. He didn’t want to waste another second before he had to leave thinking about stupid ex-Gryffindors and their obnoxious friends.

***

When Draco arrived home his weekend off, he hadn’t expected to find Potter sitting on his doorstep.

“Potter, what are you doing here?”

“Have a drink with me,” he said, holding up a bottle of scotch.

“No. Why would I do that? I just got home. I haven’t even seen my parents yet.”

“Then after supper.”

“Potter, get out of the way.” Potter stood, but didn’t move enough for Draco to pass. “Potter...”

“Invite me in.”

“No,” Draco said incredulously.

“I want to have dinner, with you and your parents.”’

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Draco shook his head. “You are absolutely unbelievable.”

Potter grinned. It was a cocky grin, and Draco didn’t like it. Potter wasn’t allowed to be cocky. That was Draco’s bit. “I try.”

“You’re not going to move until I say yes, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Good god. Fine. Just, mind your manners, will you? My father’s still...”

“Jumpy?”

“I was going to say, unkind to unannounced guests, but yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity, Potter.”

“I’m not – I don’t _pity_ you, Draco.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Draco set his bag down and called for his mum. “Mother! We have company for dinner!”

His father walked slowly into the foyer, leaning heavily on his cane. “Draco, don’t shout in my house.”

“Sorry, Father.”

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” Lucius said.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Potter nodded cordially. Well, no hexes thrown yet. Not that it would be fair, with his father’s sentencing and all.

Lucius turned and started walking toward the dining hall. “You’re staying for supper, I take it.”“Yes, sir, if that isn’t a problem.”

“As long as my wife has made enough, it shouldn’t be. We didn’t know we’d be having a guest for dinner.” Lucius cast a sidelong glance in Draco’s direction.

“That was my fault, sir,” Potter cut in before Draco could respond. “I didn’t give Draco much choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Lucius said. He sat down at the head of the table, and Draco could tell he was containing some of the discomfort in his leg for Potter’s sake. He wished his father wouldn’t do that, especially not to Potter of all people, in his own home. “To what do we owe your visit, Mr. Potter?”

“Uh...I just came by to see Draco.”

“He was waiting on the doorstep. With a bottle of scotch.” Draco ignored Potter’s betrayed stare.

Though a look of severe disapproval passed over his face, Lucius said, “I do hope it’s at least a good scotch.”

Potter held out the bottle, and then put it in Lucius’ outstretched hand. “The same type that’s in your cabinet, I believe, sir.”

Inspecting the label, Lucius seemed to approve. “Yes, indeed. A few bottles of which seemed to have disappeared during my absence,” he said, handing the bottle back to Potter and giving Draco a knowing look. “Hard to find.”

“I know someone who’s good at finding things,” Potter said, smiling.

Narcissa then entered the room, a few trays of food floating behind her. “Oh, Auror Potter, are you joining us?” she asked, looking back and forth between the men in the room, finally settling on her husband.

“I invited the boy in, Narcissa,” Lucius said.

“Wonderful,” she said in a tone that suggested she wasn’t sure if it was wonderful at all, given the circumstances. “Draco, will you get another place setting for our guest?”

“Yes, Mother.” Draco paused and kissed her on the cheek before walking over to the china cabinet and taking out another set. He placed it next to his at the table.

Once all seated at the table, the pleasantries began, and Draco just about pointed his wand at himself.

“How’s training?”

“What should Draco expect when he’s in his third year?”

“You’re cooking is fantastic, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“When’s your next holiday?”

Draco spent the whole of the meal giving short answers and feeling like he’d stepped into another dimension where Harry Potter wanted to have dinner with his parents, and his parents were fine with it. Well, he supposed a world like that wasn’t far off, he mused, but as it was, this was probably one of the more painful meals he’d ever had with Lucius and Narcissa, and that included a meal or two shared with the Dark Lord, even though he never ate anything that Draco could see. Potter was being polite and nonintrusive, his mother seemed to be warming up (again), and his father...well, at least he didn’t seem angry.

When they were finished and had polished off their bowls of trifle – his mother always did go a little overboard with the lavishness of the meals when Draco returned home – Lucius made to stand. “I think I’ll retire for the evening,” he said. “Good to have you, Potter.”

“Good evening, sir. It was good to be here, thank you.”

Draco watch as his father painfully made his way to his chambers and sighed. “Is he getting any better?” he asked his mother quietly, not really caring if he was sharing too much in front of Potter anymore. They’d probably passed the point of awkward over an hour ago.

“A little,” she replied.

“I wish I could be here to help.”

“We’re fine, Draco. You focus on your training, and don’t worry about us.” She stood, picking up a few plates.

Potter stood as well. “Let me, Mrs. Malfoy. After all your trouble.”

“If you insist, Mr. Potter. I’ll just go see to your father, Draco. Goodnight,” she said, pressing a kiss to Draco’s cheek. “It’s good to have you home again.”

“Goodnight, Mother.” Draco waited until she left the room to say, “Stop looking at us with pity.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not trying to. Sorry.” Potter piled plates onto a tray and picked it up, carrying it to the kitchen. Shaking his head at Potter’s Muggle ways, Draco charmed the other tray to follow him, and he joined Potter in washing the dishes.

They washed in relative silence, occasional murmurs of thanks here and there, and “could you pass me that plate?” The whole experience left Draco feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, except that this had all happened before, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from screaming. Potter, as usual, was completely oblivious. When they got to the pots and pans, Potter said, “Oh, I know a good cleaning charm for those,” and Draco let him, feeling utterly wrecked. He left the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of scotch Potter had brought on his way to the study.

Potter found him a few minutes later, after Draco had started a fire and planted himself in front of it on the floor, the bottle upturned into his mouth. He figured he might as well re-create the whole night, if that’s how this was going to go.

“Are you okay?” Potter asked.

“What do you think, Potter?”

Potter sat down beside him, their knees touching, and Draco tried not to flinch away. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel nice. It wasn’t even that it was Potter. It just...reminded of him of things. Things he couldn’t have. Things he shouldn’t be wanting in the first place, even if Potter was willing to give them to him. Potter took the bottle from him and drank for a few seconds, baring his teeth after he swallowed. He then licked his lips, and Draco knew he was staring, even as Potter passed back the bottle. Damn it all to hell. In a handbasket. With a baby inside.

“That’s some damn good scotch,” Potter said. “I think, you’re thinking about Harry. And it’s upsetting you. And I’m sorry.”

“Well, does thinking about the other Draco upset you?” Draco asked sarcastically.

Potter shrugged. “No. Not exactly. I miss him. I mean, I see bits of him in you, but I guess... I’m mostly just grateful that he showed me what I’ve been missing.”

“Oh, and what is that, exactly?”

“Well, _you_ , I guess.”

“There’s some cryptic, underhanded message in there somewhere, but I’m just too tired to care.” Draco took a drink and handed the bottle to Potter.

“I don’t really do cryptic and underhanded very well, so just take it at face-value, okay?”

“Whatever.”

After taking a drink and passing it back to Draco, Potter said, “So...Macreary seems to like you.”

“So?”

“That’s a good thing. Means he’ll be hard on you because he knows you can take it; it’ll make you a better Auror.”

“I’ll be a better Auror than you,” Draco challenged.

“I think we’ll be unstoppable, if we work together.”

“Like Harry and Draco?”

“Yes.”

“I see what you’re trying to do,” Draco said, not giving the bottle to Potter, even when he held out his hand.

“Oh, and what’s that?” Potter asked, leaning over to take the bottle anyway.

“You’re trying to butter me up. Ply me with alcohol and flattery so I’ll bend to your inappropriate desire for my body.”

“Is that so?”

Draco reached for the bottle. “Yes. Potter, let go.”

“Is it working?” Potter asked, licking his lips, his steadfast grip on the bottle keeping Draco in his personal space.

“Pfft. Of course not,” Draco said, staring at Potter’s mouth.

Potter leaned in, his breath brushing across Draco’s lips. “You sure about that?”

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I’m sure,” he said, but it was weak. And he still hadn’t moved from his reach across Potter to get the bottle.

“Absolutely positive?” Potter asked, his lips getting closer to Draco’s.

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“Terrible liar,” Draco murmured, leaning in just as Potter’s lips touched his. The contact made a pleasant tingle run down his spine, and he moaned into the kiss, grabbing hold of Potter’s robes. Potter leaned forward a bit more and Draco let himself be pushed, falling back so that they lay supine in front of the fire. Potter’s weight was lifted up by his arms, his hips pressing Draco’s into the floor, and Draco felt a rush of heat through his body when Potter’s hips shifted. Potter’s mouth parted from Draco’s, who lay panting, swallowing in gulps of air as Potter’s lips made a trail over to Draco’s ear.

“Potter,” Draco said breathlessly.

“Yes?” Potter murmured against Draco’s skin.

“I really hate you. Like...really. A lot.”

“No, you don’t,” Potter said and his breath sent a shiver down Draco’s spine.

“Maybe only a little, then,” Draco said. “Oh, Merlin,” he cursed, grabbing Potter’s head in both hands and bringing his mouth – _that mouth_ – back to Draco’s.

Potter’s hand snaked between them, pushing up Draco’s jumper, and his hand was as cold as ice; Draco hissed and tried to shy away from the touch. Potter just grinned and touched him again, pushing the jumper up further to brush his fingers over a nipple.

Potter was just leaning down to kiss Draco’s stomach when someone cleared their throat at the door, and Draco instinctively shoved Potter away. A little too roughly, perhaps, as Potter almost fell into the fire.

“Uh, Father...I, uh...”

Lucius held up a hand. “I don’t need an explanation. Just, if you plan to continue your...activities with Potter, would you take them somewhere other than my study? If you don’t mind.”

Draco got to his feet, pulling down his shirt and straightening his clothes as best he could around his growing hard-on. “Of course, Father. Um, we’ll just be...leaving,” he said, absolutely mortified and feeling it in his cheeks.

“Sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” Potter said, standing and leaning down to retrieve the forgotten bottle of scotch and following Draco to the door.

Lucius stopped him with his cane. “The scotch, Potter.”

Draco watched, as a little wide-eyed, Potter placed the bottle in his father’s hand.

“Sorry, sir.”

Draco then turned around swiftly and led Potter out into the foyer to the door, where Potter then proceeded to burst into childish giggles.

“Merlin, Potter, stop laughing. I am _mortified_.”

Potter stepped closer and put his arms around Draco’s waist, pulling him in. Draco put his hands against Potter’s chest, to keep him from getting too close. It didn’t really work. Potter just wound up pressing him against one of the double doors.

“Why?” Potter asked, nuzzling Draco’s ear. “Because your dad caught us?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

“Well, he _did_ say we could take this elsewhere...”

“You’re a terrible influence.” Draco leaned down and kissed Potter – no, Harry – just a slide of lips against lips, and then a hint of tongue, asking permission. Harry parted his lips, and Draco explored the plains of his mouth with his tongue, inviting Harry to explore his. They kissed for a few more moments, and then Harry pulled away.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered against Draco’s kiss-abused mouth.

“I don’t...” His hand found the door handle and he turned it and pulled, a cold rush of winter air hitting them like a cold shower. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Draco said, “but I think you should probably...er, probably take your leave for the night.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, a pout in his voice. He pressed his body harder against Draco’s as the cold continued to pour in.

Draco closed his eyes, breathing deeply for just a short moment. “Y-yes,” he said. “Yes. I’m exhausted. Training is destroying my sleep habits.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry said, looking down. “I got to skip most of it.”

“What?” Draco pushed Potter away a little.

Potter shrugged. “Kingsley said anyone that fought in the Battle at Hogwarts was exempt from the tactical portion of the training. I still have to do the rest of it. Paperwork is boring, F.Y.I.”

Draco just stared at him. “Of _course_ Harry Potter gets everything for free,” Draco said, more to himself.

Potter’s eyes snapped up to his. “Not for free, Draco. I didn’t come out of that battle for free.”

Draco took Harry’s meaning and nodded. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He kissed Draco in a way that made Draco sure that Harry wasn’t mad at him for his comment. It left him breathless and dizzy. “I’m going to get going, then. I’ll see you later?”

Not knowing what to say, or maybe not having the capacity to say much of anything, Draco just nodded again. “Yeah.”

Potter took Draco’s cheeks in his hands, kissing him again, this time, a little more softly, like a promise. “Bye.”

“Goodbye,” Draco said, dazed. His heart was beating rather rapidly and he almost didn’t notice Harry leaving, the door closing behind him and the draft of cold air suddenly gone. Draco turned to look surreptitiously out the window that ran the length of the doors. Potter looked over his shoulder, smiling, before spinning around and Apparating away.

Leaning back against the door, Draco took a deep breath. “Oh, I’m in trouble,” he said out loud into the now very empty room.

***

Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair, being that Draco did _not_ want to discuss what his father had seen last night, or the fact that he'd spend the rest of the night wanking over Potter's mouth. Harry. Harry's mouth. That damnable mouth, he thought, frustrated, and he tried to think of McGonagall's knickers to stave off another erection. McGonagall's knickers usually worked. He shuddered.

“You alright, dear?” his mother asked, sipping her tea.

“Yes, Mother, I'm fine,” he replied quietly, pushing his food around with his fork.

“Your father's informed me of your...activities last night.” She had a knowing smile on her face.

Turning what must have been a rather unflattering shade of pink, and wondering why 'activities' was the word choice for he and Harry's snog session, Draco sputtered, “Well, I... You see, Potter and I... It's really not...”

Lucius put up a hand to cut Draco off. “Your Mother explained what's been going on the past few months. I can't say I'm not disappointed...I had hoped you'd continue on the blood line.”

“I can still do that, Father,” Draco said eagerly, sitting up straight.

“Narcissa has reminded me of why I left in the first place. To ensure your freedom. So you would not have to live in my shadow.”

“I don't understand what you're saying.”

“What your mother and I would like to convey,” Lucius said, taking his wife's hand in his, “is that we want you to be happy first. We can figure out a way to carry on the bloodlines when the time comes. Besides, your association with Potter can only bring good things to this family.”

“I...I don't quite know what to say. I thought you'd be mad. I don't want to disappoint you.”

“You've taken great strides in making me proud, as of late,” Lucius said, standing. “I imagine it is I that should start making up your disappointment in me.”

Staying silent because he honestly couldn't think of anything to say, Draco watched his father go. Turning to his mother, he said, “I don't... I'm not in love with Potter or anything. It was just a bit of kissing. Really.”

“Narcissa reached over and put her hand atop his. “Whatever it turns out to be, we support you.”

“I don't know why. I can't carry on the family legacy if I'm with Potter.”

“You're young. There's still time.” She stood and started picking up plates.

“What if being an Auror kills me first?”

The question stopped Narcissa in her chore. “Talking and thinking like that...it only makes it more likely to happen. Be vigilant, Draco. Never presumptuous.” Narcissa left the room with the dishes on a tray, leaving Draco feeling a strange mixture of relieved and chastised. Finishing his tea, Draco thought he was rather lucky his father hadn't disowned him, or worse. Any doubt Draco had in his mind about how his father really felt about him vanished with the dawn.

He spent the rest of the day lounging about, reading books on healing spells and remedies (you just never knew what you'd need in the field), and playing Wizard's Chess with his father. He let his father win the first few games, until Lucius caught on and demanded Draco play fairly.

“It's the only way either of us will be better, Draco,” he said.

“Sorry.” As they set up the board, he said, “You're not... I'm not disappointed in you, Father.” It was a lie, they both knew; if it was one thing that Draco had avoided the past two years, it was that he never dealt with the disappointment he had toward his father's abandonment. Instead, he let it fester as anger until his return became reality, and all Draco felt was relief.

“Yes, you are, son,” Lucius said, and the truth hung in the air like the moment before a drop of rain fell from the sky. “And it's okay. I deserve it. I never should have left you and your mother alone. It was selfish of me to do so.”

“We've been okay, though. I mean, we've made due.”

“You shouldn't have had to, is my point. Draco, you've learned the hard way that your father is a coward – a snake that's only ever done what would be in his best interests.”

“And ours,” Draco cut in, needing it to be as true as his disappointment. “All you've ever done is make sure Mother and I want for nothing.”

“And to what end? My alliances have brought us nothing but pain and danger. I've used every trick in the book to get what I wanted, Draco. What I thought was _best_.” Lucius drew a dry laugh, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. “What I went through...that happened because I was a coward. Perhaps because I was doing what I thought was right by you, but because I've never been able to own up to my mistakes.” He stood stiffly, and slowly made his way to the cabinet to pour himself a drink. “My hope is, you never have to have the same regrets. I may never love Muggles – in fact, I find them and their ways to be quite idiotic. But I suppose they have their uses. If accepting their role in our ever-changing world and still being able to hold onto our traditions is all I have left to contribute, then so be it. And if my mistakes can be your lesson, then that’s all I can hope for.” Lucius returned to his seat, tumbler in hand.

“So you’re saying that you’re going to tolerate Potter and I snogging on the floor of your study because you’d rather that then have me be a coward?”

Lucius met Draco’s eyes over the chess board. “It’s cowardice that’s keeping you from accepting his affections without reservation.”

Draco swallowed and looked away.

“What are you afraid of, son? If it’s how I’m going to handle the possibility of no blood heirs, I told you, we can cross that bridge. Your mother thinks Potter’s good for you, so I’m willing to let you do what you want. You’re an adult now, a man, and I have to trust you to make the right decisions. For yourself, and for your family.”

_The right decisions..._ The words echoed in Draco’s brain, and he looked out past his father to the windows, the landscape outside a blurry river of colour through the water falling. Rain. Again.It rained, and Harry Potter was his friend.

Draco stood. “Excuse me, Father. I have something I need to do.”

“You’re excused,” Lucius said, smiling into his tumbler.

Draco left the Manor and Apparated to Grimmauld Place, taking the steps to the door two at a time. He knocked on the door rapidly, his hair and clothing already taking a beating from the steady downpour that was currently hitting London. He paused, and when no one answered, he picked up the knocker and knocked again.

“Okay, okay, Jesus,” Harry said, opening the door. “Draco, what—“

Draco, not caring if he looked a little like a lunatic, or perhaps a crazed, drowned rat, grabbed hold of Harry’s shirt and pulled him out onto the step.

“Draco, I don’t have any shoes on—“

Draco took Harry’s face in his hands and kissed him soundly. Pulling away, he said, “I accept.”

“Accept what?” Harry said, looking pleasantly surprised, droplets of rain catching on his ridiculous glasses.

“Accept...your offer. Of a truce. Of Friendship.”

Catching on, Harry smirked. “Something more?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Don’t ruin a good moment by talking about semantics, Potter. And get that stupid grin off your face. You look like Weasley, and it’s most unpleasant.”

Harry tipped back his head and laughed. It was a full sound, and it took all of Draco’s will to keep his scowl in place.

“You...you are something else, Draco Malfoy.”

“Something _amazing_ , you mean.”

Harry was still grinning that stupid grin. It was kind of infectious. “You’re such an arse.”

“But you like that sort of thing.”

“I do,” Harry said, and pulled Draco close, kissing him.

 

 

*******

  



	3. Epilogue

*******

  
**  
_Four Months Later, Early June._   
**

 

 

Draco had just Apparated home and had his hand outstretched toward the doorknob when a voice behind him had him spinning around and drawing his wand before he could process the words.

Harry blinked at the wand pointed at his chest. “Well, this situation is a little more familiar than I’d like.”

“Good gods, Harry. I could have seriously hurt you,” Draco said, lowering his wand and putting it away. He straightened out his robes. “I’m trained in tactical combat now, you know.”

Harry stepped forward. “Well, next we need to work on your observational skills. You should have heard me coming.” At Draco’s scowl – no, death glare – Harry put his arms around Draco’s neck and said, “I’m glad you were worried you might hurt me, though,” and placed a kiss on Draco’s mouth.

Draco heaved a put-upon sigh once Harry retreated. “You are forgiven.”

“Let’s get inside so I can make it up to you,” Harry said, nuzzling Draco’s ear, a thing which Harry knew drove Draco mad.

Heat warming his cheeks, Draco turned around and opened the door. They walked inside, and Draco called out to his parents. It was met with an echo, then silence. He shrugged. “Looks like they’re out.”

The grin on Harry’s face turned a little feral, which did things to Draco’s insides he preferred not to admit. “Er...let’s go upstairs,” Draco said, making his way quickly.

They entered his room and Draco set his bag down. “So now you’re done with your Training House days,” Harry said from behind him. “How does that feel?”

Draco unceremoniously fell onto the bed, on his stomach with his arms spread out, as if embracing it’s loveliness. “I love my bed,” he said. “That’s how I feel.”

He heard Harry chuckle and felt a dip in the bed as Harry sat down beside him. “You’re not _too_ tired, I hope,” he said, brushing a finger down the nape of Draco’s neck. Draco shivered a little in response and turned over.

“No,” he said. “Not _too_ tired.”

The smile on Harry’s mouth – _oh, that mouth_ , Draco thought – was both bright and salacious, and it thrilled Draco in parts long ignored. He reached up a hand and pulled Harry down by his robes. It wasn’t often they had this time; once a month, Draco came home from Dorset, and one of those times, Harry had been preoccupied with a case he was working on, and didn’t have the time. And another one of those weekends, Draco spent half the time helping his mother entertain and all they’d done is a quick one-off half-collapsed against Harry’s stairs. But today...

There was an almost forbidden air to their tryst – Draco’s parents could come home at any moment – and the danger of being caught – _again_ – was enough to start Draco’s blood boiling with desire and anticipation, and an almost savage need to get Harry _out of his clothes._

Still kissing Harry, Draco kicked off his shoes and began disrobing Harry as quickly as he could. He sat upright, moving back toward the centre of the large four-poster, knocking Harry’s glasses askew in the process. Harry pawed at Draco’s clothes, pulling at buttons and pushing at fabric.

“God-dammed- _clothing_ ,” he mumbled, a low growl in his throat that went straight to Draco’s groin. “Haven’t wizards ever heard of Velcro and snap buttons?”

“Well, _I_ have,” Draco murmured through kisses. “But I also have a membership at the Muggle library.”

Harry pulled away, a puzzled look on his face. He righted his glasses. “Really?”

“Yes, Harry. I read. I know you only want me for my amazing body, so why are we still talking?”

Harry smiled at Draco’s cheek. “I love your brain, too. Brains are sexy,” he said, kissing Draco.

“Was there some truth to those rumours about you and Granger, then?” Draco asked, honestly curious.

Harry looked somewhat horrified. “No, Draco. _No_. Nothing has _ever_ happened with me and Hermione. Ew,” he added, his lip curling.

The glee Draco felt at Harry’s reaction to his inquiry was kept hidden by his desire for more contact with Harry’s mouth. “I’m sorry for doubting you. Does this help erase those disturbing thoughts?” he asked, pulling a now partially-clothed Harry down on top of him and kissing him deeply.

Harry pulled away a few moments later, panting, his glasses askew again and a little fogged. “Er...no. Not quite.”

“What? You need more? Gods, you’re insatiable, Potter.”

“C’mon, you’re just as insatiable as I am.”

Draco shifted his weight and flipped Harry onto his back, straddling his waist. “Damn straight I am.”

Matching Draco’s grin with one of his own, Harry pulled Draco into a kiss and then Draco’s robes and shirt were on the floor and Harry’s hands were yanking roughly on Draco’s belt.

“ _Merlin_ , Harry,” Draco panted, doing his best to push Harry’s shirt off his chest while he was lying down.

Harry sat up and quickly pulled his shirt from his shoulders, tossing it away before pulling Draco close, kissing him almost a little frantically. Harry’s skin was feverishly hot against Draco’s and Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s broad shoulders, his fingers finding purchase in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. His hips canted in Harry’s lap, making Harry groan into the kiss and push up.

“Off, off,” Harry whispered, and Draco complied, and they both shimmied out of their trousers and pants, and then there was nothing between them but too much air. They came together again in a tangle of limbs, torsos and mouths, the air between them now warm and heavy with the smell of their arousal.

It wasn’t the first time they’d been completely naked like this, panting hotly and sliding sweat-slicked against each other in a usually uncontrollable need to get off in any way possible, but this time felt different, Draco noted. Perhaps it was because there wasn’t the threat of time apart on the near horizon, or that they were in Draco’s bed this time, and seriously, his parents could arrive home at any moment, but it felt as though Harry were trying to make promises with his kisses, frantic though they may be; he wanted Draco to feel something. Something that Harry was painting in lines on his back with his fingers, digging in almost painfully to his hips and thighs; something that Harry was putting into every press of lips against his, every press against his cheeks and eyelids and jaw. Something in the way Harry would nudge up Draco’s chin with his nose, just to get access to the sensitive skin just below his ear.

When Harry finally got tired of Draco’s nose pushing his specs out of the way, he grabbed them and tossed them off to the side. Draco felt a little ripple of magic against his skin as the glasses managed to fold neatly and land on Draco’s night stand.

“How did you...? Was that wandless magic?” Draco asked, and seemed to recall a fuzzy memory when another Harry, in another time, in another place, had cleaned up a spill without a wand.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve been able to do things like that my whole life, for the most part. I’m not usually in control of it, though.”

“Holy shit,” Draco breathed, running a hand up Harry’s arm as if he could feel the magic there, again. “And the mystery of Harry Potter continues.” He kissed Harry again and that damnable mouth kept any more coherent thoughts from his brain. Well, that and the fact that Harry’s hand had found his cock.

Harry’s hands were as damnable as his mouth – or maybe it was just that it was _Harry_ and he was touching Draco. Draco reached down and touched Harry in reciprocation, which made him break away, gasping.

“Draco. I want you.”

“I want you, too,” Draco replied automatically, thinking it was a silly thing to say, considering their state of dress, then wondered why Harry was taking that wonderful hand away from his cock.

“No, I want...you. You know, like...” Harry said, blushing, his lip caught between his teeth.

Oh. _Oh_. Draco’s mouth opened and a soft noise escaped. “I don’t...” he swallowed, “I don’t know how to really... I don’t really know what’s involved there. I mean, I get it, I’ve...been reading... I just... What if it hurts? It seems like it’ll hurt.”

“You can be on top.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

“Let’s just...try. If it’s becomes too much, I’ll let you know, and we can stop.”

“I... Okay.”

Draco climbed off of Harry’s lap and Harry lay back, looking flushed and none too nervous. He put his feet on the bed, his knees skyward, causing all of him to be exposed. So exposed. Draco swallowed, overcome with feelings of want and worry and adoration and _admiration_ , because the man lying in front of him, was by far, the bravest, most trusting man he’d ever met, and moreover, he trusted _Draco_ , and that realisation took Draco’s breath away.

Draco braced his hands on either side of Harry’s shoulders, leaning over him and placing a gentle kiss to his lips. He moved down Harry’s body, placing kisses on his cheek, his jaw, that same spot just below his ear that drove Draco crazy, down his neck and across his shoulder, across his chest and down to his navel. Harry dropped one of his legs as Draco moved over between them, and placed a kiss in the hollow of Harry’s hip. He ran a hand down the inside of Harry’s thigh, then back up again to cup his balls, which garnered a low moan from Harry above.

Draco took a hold of Harry’s cock in that hand and swirled his tongue around the head before sucking the tip of it into his mouth, his other arm coming down to curl around Harry’s thigh. Harry pushed up with his hips, slipping himself further into Draco’s mouth. Draco welcomed him eagerly, wanting the chance to get better at this; wanting to please Harry. From the noises Harry was making, and the way his fingers were twisting in the duvet, Draco figured he was doing a fairly good job.

“Draco... You need to put something in me... _now_ , or I’m gonna...”

Taking the hint, Draco pulled away and looked down to his next target. Breathing heavily, he started experimenting by rubbing his finger down in the crevice of Harry’s arse, pressing lightly at the hole. He knew he needed lube of some sort, he knew he probably wanted to clean Harry’s arsehole, because that’s what you did, right? Otherwise, what they were about to do, what they were doing, would be rather unpleasant and gross. But Draco hadn’t quite memorized the incantations yet.

“I need my wand. Just a second,” he said, and reached down into his robes to retrieve it. Then he reached over to the nightstand and unlocked the drawer, pulling out a small book.

“ _The Art of Lovemaking_?” Harry said, chuckling a little.

“Shut up, Potter. Unlike _you_ , I actually want to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“You’re such a nerd. It’s hot, don’t worry,” Harry said, when Draco gave him a puzzled look. “Does it actually have stuff on...?” he asked, rolling over onto his side.

“Gay sex? Yes. I put some spells in the back, though, that I found.”

“Spells?” Harry asked, looking puzzled himself. “I didn’t realise sex required spells.”

“It doesn’t. It’s just a couple of things I picked up in my research...to make things easier. You know, lube and...cleaning spells.”

“I hate feeling like an idiot. And I know this is going to sound dumb,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair, “but cleaning spell?”

“For your arsehole, Harry. I’m not sticking my dick up there when it’s all dirty.”

Harry had the grace to blush. “Good point.”

“I’m not implying you’re dirty.”

“I could be dirty, if you want,” Harry said, that salacious smile back.

Draco couldn’t help but snort. “You’re ridiculous. And this is ruining the mood.”

“Sex is supposed to be fun,” Harry said.

“Well, yes, I suppose it is,” Draco said, looking down at his notes.

Harry reached out a hand. “I know you haven’t been with very many people...it’s okay. I’ve only ever been with Ginny. Before you, that is.”

“You don’t need to comfort me, Potter.”

Harry leaned over and kissed Draco’s arm right above the elbow. “I know. I just want you to know...it’s okay. This is like my first time, too.”

Draco closed his book and set it on the table. He crawled back over so he was hovering over Harry, who looked up at him, open and inviting. He kissed Harry on the mouth. “This might be a bit unpleasant,” he said, whispering the cleansing spell as he pointed his wand down between them.

“Unpleasant?” Harry asked, then screwed his eyes shut as the spell started working. “Oh. Ow.” He opened his eyes, blinking. “Yeah...unpleasant is a word for that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s...okay,” he said, breathing. “Just, uh...let’s get on to the pleasant bits, alright?”

Draco nodded and leaned down to restart his trail down Harry’s body with kisses. He took special care at Harry’s cock, working his erection back up with his mouth. When Harry was panting again, murmuring nonsense into the air, Draco sat back on his heels and pointed his wand at his other hand, whispering the lubrication spell, then tossed his wand to the side. He rubbed his hand over his own prick, working the lube all over, and trying not to get himself too excited.

Leaning forward on one hand, Draco reached his hand down and pressed his finger into Harry’s arsehole, the tight opening both resisting and taking in as much as Draco wanted. Harry gasped at the new sensation, bucking his hips up; his cock, fat and glistening with precome and saliva hitting his stomach. Draco took Harry’s cock back into his mouth, pressing his hips down with an arm, and worked his finger into Harry’s arse while greedily sucking on his prick.

Harry moaned and tossed his head up above Draco, and Draco introduced a second finger to the first. Harry hissed at the greater intrusion, but kept mumbling, “More, more.” Draco took his mouth off of Harry’s cock to watch him come undone, his face flushed and a blush spreading down his chest. His eyelashes were fluttering against his cheek, and Draco thought it was probably the hottest and most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Draco added another finger, and even though it was so tight on his fingers, and he couldn’t possibly imagine how Harry could take all of Draco into him, Harry was pushing down on his fingers, now, and Draco felt like it must be time. He pulled his fingers slowly out, trailing the tips down Harry’s inner thigh.

“I’m ready,” Harry whispered, breathing heavily. “Draco, _please_ ,” he panted, looking down at Draco. Draco crawled up to hover over Harry again, almost as if stalking his prey, and leaned down to claim Harry’s mouth as his. That _mouth_ that said the stupidest things, and the hottest things, and then did things like give Draco the best blow job he’d ever had in his life, and then would kiss him, sometimes so possessively, like he was afraid someone else was trying to lay a claim on Draco, and sometimes so feather light and simple that it took Draco’s breath away.

Draco kissed that mouth, reassuring, possessing, and loving – trying to pour that all into just that one kiss. He pulled away only for a moment to reach down and pull Harry’s leg up farther, then aligned himself with Harry’s arse and pushed in, pushed in as slowly as he could.

Harry screwed up his face in pain, and Draco wished he could do something to stop it from hurting so much; he didn’t want to hurt Harry – no never hurt Harry, never again – but it was _tight_ , and _hot_ , and tight enough that Draco had to stop, it was almost painful. He braced his hands on either side of Harry, breathing with controlled shaking through his nose. Harry’s hands came up to run lightly, reassuringly over Draco’s arms, his shoulders, his face, then touched lightly near Draco’s hip; permission.

Draco’s eyes opened, and saw the honest truth in Harry’s green eyes, and almost fell apart, right then. He pushed his hips forward, just a little, and though a noise of pain managed to escape Harry’s throat, he nodded and urged Draco forward again with his fingertips, leaning up to kiss Draco hard on the mouth.

“It’s okay...it’s okay...” he said, falling back onto the bed, and Draco bit his lip and pushed forward some more, letting a gasp escape his mouth. He was almost all the way in, and Harry was urging him forward even more, and he pushed, kept pushing, Harry’s body greedily taking Draco in, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world.

His arms no longer able to keep him up, Draco fell down onto his elbows, his head falling onto Harry’s chest. Harry’s hands came up to run through Draco’s hair, over his shoulders and across his back.

“It’s okay... Keep going. Draco,” he said, pulling Draco’s eyes up to meet his. “I want you to fuck me, Draco. Gods, please, fuck me.”

Draco captured Harry’s mouth again and canted his hips back, drawing Harry’s mouth away in a hiss. Draco pushed back in, a little more smoothly this time, and Harry’s fingers dug into his back, painfully, his short nails scraping layers of skin away and sliding in sweat. Draco pulled back again, and brought his hips forward, a little faster this time, their hips meeting in a quiet slap of skin.

“Gods, _Harry_ ,” Draco breathed, his mouth resting in a kiss over Harry’s clavicle for a moment before he nipped the taught skin with his teeth. Draco’s hips started to move of their own accord, in a steadily increasing rhythm of push and pull, and Harry’s legs tightened around Draco’s hips, asking for more.

Harry’s fingers tangled in Draco’s hair, and they wrenched up painfully to bring Draco’s mouth up to his, where Harry kissed him hungrily, possessively, their teeth knocking together and their lips getting caught in the crossfire. Draco’s hands cupped under Harry’s shoulders as leverage, pressing bruises into the skin, and Harry moved his possessive mouth to Draco’s neck, where he could feel Harry leaving marks with teeth that no amount of magic could cover up.

“ _Merlin_ , Harry, _fuck_ ,” Draco said near Harry’s ear, and was met with a litany of words spilling from Harry’s mouth; _fuckDracoyespleasemorefuckmeohgodfuckyesDracofuckfuckfuck._

Draco was getting close; he knew this. He felt it every time his hips slapped against Harry’s, every time Harry panted against his neck, every time Harry said his name.

“Harry. Harry, I’m... I’m getting close.”

“I need you...I just need you to...” Harry pushed one of Draco’s hands down to his cock, wedged between them, forgotten. Despite Harry’s litany, it had gone a little soft, and Draco wrapped his hand around it, stroking, pulling the foreskin back to aid in Harry’s release.

“Oh, yes, Draco, fuck. Oh my god,” Harry cursed, then his back arched, his head tipping back, and come spilled all over Harry’s stomach and between Draco’s fingers. Harry clenched up around his cock, even tighter than before, though Draco hadn’t thought it was possible, and he had to stop for a moment until Harry came down off of his high.

Harry relaxed his back, his hips pushing back down, and Draco leaned in, kissing Harry as he resumed pushing into him. Harry encouraged Draco with sloppy kisses and a hand on his ass, pulling him in. Draco pulled one of Harry’s leg over his shoulder and the better angle made pushing in easier, made feeling Harry all around him easier, and he fucked Harry harder, faster, the sound between their bodies like a metronome keeping time. A few short thrusts, and Draco came, crying out and caught still for a moment before his muscles couldn’t keep him up any longer and he fell against Harry, breathing rapidly, his hair plastered to his forehead.

They lay like that, for a moment, their breath eventually evening out, the sweat cooling on their skin. Harry’s arms were still around Draco, and they traced lazy patterns and caused the tiny wounds on Draco’s back to sting when brushed across.

Draco was the first to move, pushing himself up and over, falling onto his back next to Harry. He looked over at Harry, and took one of his hands in his, intertwining their fingers. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I just got fucked senseless by my boyfriend. What do you think?”

Draco chuckled, smiling. He looked up at the ceiling. “You know what I meant.”

“Uh...” Harry moved his legs a little, turning slowly so he was facing Draco. “I think I’m going to be very sore for a while. In all the right places.”

Draco looked over at him, then brought his hand up to kiss it. “I’m sorry. I told you I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. But I knew it was going to hurt. It’s okay. I can handle it. I’m not a china doll.” Harry reached his other arm over to place a hand on Draco’s chest. “Are you okay?”

“Are you kidding? I just got to fuck my boyfriend senseless.”

Harry laughed, and Draco loved the sound.

“I am going to be a bit sore myself, though,” Draco said, flexing his legs. “Despite the rigorous last six months, there are just some muscles you don’t use in tactical combat training.”

Harry’s fingers tightened on Draco’s. “Well, the good thing is, we have the next two days to lie in bed, recovering.”

“Oh, is that what you think we’ll be doing?” Draco said, smiling cheekily.

Harry pushed himself up on an elbow and leaned down to kiss Draco. “Well, I’m sure there’s more in that book than we’ve had the chance to explore,” he said.

Draco pulled him down and kissed him again. “I like your brain, too, you know that?”

Harry smiled. “At least I’m good for something. Wanna shower?”

“Gods, yes,” Draco said.

***

Draco woke up slowly, lethargy lingering. He rubbed his eyes, stretching a little, and feeling just how sore he was going to be in the morning. He opened his eyes, looking around, and knew immediately, that it was past midnight. The light from the moon streaming through the open drapes told him so. Off in the distance of the house, he heard his parents moving around, probably having just returned home from wherever they had spent the evening.

He looked to his left, to Harry sleeping next to him. The sheets were just under his navel, a hint of his hip peeking out, and Draco rose up on an elbow, turning toward Harry, longing to touch it, but wanted to observe for a moment.

Harry’s face was turned just slightly away from him, but it was soft with sleep, young and vibrant with the promise of life. His cheeks retained their slightly ruddy complexion, his eyelashes as dark as the hair falling across the pillow. The scar on his forehead was a slightly darker pink against the white of his skin, but not the only mark on his body. There was a scar on the inside of his left wrist, and another small one on his shoulder, a little jagged, as if from a knife. His arms were strong and his fingers a little rough with a minor cut or two, but he was otherwise unflawed; on the surface, at least.

But Draco knew; Harry held dark secrets, as dark as his own, and though Draco never pried – there had never been time for that, really – he knew, because the other Harry had told him. Had told him that they were the same, and Draco never would have believed it, or maybe, didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was right in front of him. Harry was as flawed and unpredictable as he was. And just as achingly beautiful, in his own way.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought. God, Harry was making him into such a poetic sap. But at least he was _his_ Harry. Draco didn’t have to share him with anyone else. Harry was Draco’s, all ridiculous sentiment and tempting body parts and sarcasm hidden behind unassuming spectacles and a sense of duty to help people and keep the world safe. Draco brushed his fingertips down Harry’s arm, wanting to lay claim to the man lying beside him. No one else could have him. Everyone had already had a piece of him. Draco wanted this, this one thing, all to himself. It was selfish, but Draco hardly cared.

Harry’s eyelashes fluttered for a moment, his eyes moving beneath the eyelids. He shifted in his sleep, his head falling back toward Draco. He was waking up.

Harry stretched out a little, a small mewling sound coming from his throat. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Draco in confusion for just a moment before smiling.

“’ello,” he murmured sleepily.

“Hello, my rather fetching boyfriend.”

“Aww...you're too sweet.” Harry stretched out fully this time, arching his back, letting the sheet fall a little farther south.

“Only to you,” Draco said, painfully pulling his eyes back upward. “I hate everyone else.”

Harry relaxed suddenly, in a huff of breath. “Really?”

“No, but have you met people? They're irritating.”

Harry laughed quietly. “I see.”

“But you. See, you have a special place. In my chest.” Draco placed a hand over said spot.

“It’s called your heart, Draco.”

“Don't ruin the moment with semantics, Potter.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after midnight.”

“Why are you up?”

Draco shrugged. “My parents are home.”

“Oh. Are they...did they check in on us?”

“No, but I don’t think they’ll care.”

“Hm.” Harry took Draco’s unused hand and brought it to his chest, playing with the pads of his fingers. Draco swallowed, the sensation tickling and a little arousing. “Draco, I—“ Harry sucked his lower lip between his teeth, acting as though he was worried, which worried Draco. “Nevermind.”

“Spit it out, Harry,” Draco said, and secretly, not-so-deep inside, he was worried Harry was going to break up with him. Or maybe he was just terrible at sex, and now Harry had felt enough time had passed to tell him, some evil part of his brain supplied.

“You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“I promise to only think you’re stupid a little bit.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not important.”

“Yes it is, or else you wouldn’t have a hard time saying it,” Draco replied, his worry deepening. Maybe this entire thing had been a ruse; a plot to bring down the great Draco Malfoy, a way to dig the proverbial axe really deep – to humiliate Draco and his family so that they might never recover.

“I love you, okay?” Harry blurted. “There. It’s out. You can start making fun of me now.”

Draco blinked. He looked down at Harry, whose eyes were pointed at anything else but Draco, and a blush of embarrassment stained his cheeks as well as Harry’s.

“What if I don’t want to make fun of you?” Draco finally said, once all other fears were dashed away into little pieces, never to be heard from again.

Harry turned his head, their eyes finally meeting. “What?”

“I love you, too, you idiot.”

“Really?”

“No, I just tolerate you because you let me stick my prick up your arse.”

Harry laughed. “No, you _love_ me.” His grin was far too smug for Draco’s liking.

Draco fell onto his back. “Merlin, help me, I do.”

Harry turned his body so that he was cuddled up to Draco like a puppy dog, throwing his arm across Draco’s torso and letting a foot find an ankle of Draco’s to hook around. He was still grinning.

“I can’t believe you’re _cuddling_ me, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “But you _like_ that sort of thing.”

Draco sighed, a smile forming on his lips.

“I do.”

**_fin_.**

****


End file.
